Finis
by rcaqua
Summary: India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Harry Potter xover.
1. Prologue

**Title: Finis**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter and all of the characters and places associated with it are a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters. India Cohen and Kit Bothwell are from Nancy Holder's _Buffy_ tie-in _The Book of Fours. _

**Distribution: **If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.

**Summary: **India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Warning: HBP spoilers.

**a/n: **This is the latest in my Hermione-is-the-Slayer kick.I"M BACK! Hallelujah! My penname works (for now...). But I'll stillbe posting under rcaqua2, occasionally. Please let me know if I should continue. And, yes, I know in _Once Upon A Time_ I said the Coven only uses phones in apocalypse-type situations, but that isn't true for this story.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

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**Prologue**

Cecilia Harrington shifted in her seat slightly and fidgeted with the envelope in her pocket. The emergency meeting was scheduled to start any minute now, but Cecilia couldn't help but wonder which daft plonker had decided to _schedule _an emergency.

Most of her colleagues looked jittery; a mixture of apprehensive and excited all at once. When Celia had first arrived, the room had been filled with intense discussions; the rumors had been flying as fast as someone could come up with a theory as to why the meeting had been called. Now, over half an hour later, the talk had died down and everyone was sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for news. Yet the man behind it all, the one person in the building who could possibly know what was going on, remained in his office, gathering information from his contacts.

Cecilia wondered idly if Quentin Travers had been born bald, or if being a Watcher for forty years had been the reason behind his hair loss. If he had been born with hair, what color would it have been? Surely it would be an unusual color; something that said "I am dignified," while at the same time showing a ridiculously pompous and annoying air. Perhaps green? No, that was far too pretty a color. Maybe a nice hazy brownish orange, the exact color of dried-up vomit. Yes, that was definitely the color.

Cecilia was so absorbed in deciphering Quentin Travers' original hair color that she failed to register the sudden tension in the air for several seconds. When she did, the Watcher noticed that the real-life version of Travers was now sitting at the head of the table, and surveying them all with what he obviously felt was a saddened and mournful expression; in reality, he looked like he was having the time of his life.

"I have just received news from Christopher Bothwell," he began with an expression of marked glee, "It seems his Slayer has died."

So that was why he was so happy. It was common knowledge among the Watchers that India Cohen was a very reckless Slayer, and her relationship with Kit Bothwell was unconventional, to say the least.

Travers continued to give details of the girl's death, but Cecilia didn't hear them. As soon as Travers had announced the girl's death, a strange roaring sound had begun to fill Cecilia's ears. It was accompanied by the same odd sensation she had felt when her father had told her about the Council for the first time.

"Markham, I want you to get in touch with the Coven in Devon," Travers ordered, "Get them to locate the next Slayer."

"Yes, sir," Markham, a new recruit fresh from the Academy, quickly ran off to get on the phone with the witches in Devon.

"Everyone, we need to be on high alert until the new Slayer is found," Travers warned, "God only knows what could be brewing while the world remains unprotected."

Once again, Cecilia fingered the envelope in her pocket, and then resolutely pulled her hand away. Something told her that this wasn't the time. The roaring sound still hadn't left her ears, and she felt like she was missing something. As if there was something she had to do. But what it was, Cecilia didn't know.



Cecilia threw her purse on the couch and sank down next to it. The strange feeling that she was missing something hadn't disappeared in the past three weeks. In fact, it had only grown stronger. The information the Council was getting from the Coven was only confusing her even more.

For about half an hour after Markham had phoned them, the witches' spells had reported the Slayer to be somewhere in Dartmouth. Then they said their spells were showing the new Slayer to be in California- Los Angeles, to be precise. Merrick had been sent to investigate the lead in Los Angeles, and had reported it to be true. Both the Council and the Coven chalked up the Dartmouth result to faulty readings so soon after India Cohen's death had disturbed the Slayer power. Normally, Cecilia would have agreed with that assessment; it had been true enough before.

However, as soon as she had heard the words "Slayer in Dartmouth," the feeling had increased ten-fold. She had figured what the feeling was; a part of her had recognized it from the very beginning. In the diaries of Watchers before her, she had read their words as they described having the same feeling she now had; a need to do something. The same feeling every Watcher felt when they were first recruited. Mortimer Giles had once said that every Watcher was Chosen, just as every Slayer was; sometimes, promising new recruits were sent to their Slayer fresh from the Academy, hoping to cultivate that feeling. And somehow, impossible though it seemed, Cecilia knew she'd been chosen to help a Slayer in Dartmouth- a Slayer who didn't exist.

So she had finally given Travers the letter that had been burning a hole in her pocket for so long. Cecilia Harrington, eighth generation Watcher, had handed in her resignation. He had been wearing the same falsely pleasant, hungry expression he always had around her. There had always been resentment in the Council at the high position her father had secured for her. But, Travers had always had a soft spot for money, which was something Gordon Harrington had had in abundance.

She could tell that when Travers had begun to read her letter he would have expected some small request- a bigger office, a vacation, etc.- that he would have quickly agreed to in the hopes that Cecilia would continue her father's tradition of giving ridiculously large amounts of money to the Council at the Christmas fundraiser. So it was obvious why she had fled the building the second the envelope was in his hand.

Since then, she had gotten a hotel room in Dartmouth and started casting spells to find the hidden Slayer, all the while trying to figure out how there could be two Slayers. At last, she had turned something up. There was the residue of powerful magical energy at a small house about two blocks away from her hotel. Her spells had judged it to be about three weeks old. The same time some Potential had gotten the power of the Slayer.

Every room in the house was immaculately clean, as if someone had wanted it to look as if nothing was wrong. Yet here and there were signs that all was not right with the residents of Number Eight Carey Road. Scorch marks on the floor and splinters of wood stuck so far in the wall Cecilia couldn't make them budge an inch

It wasn't abandoned, and when questioned, the neighbors said the family was on vacation. No, they didn't remember anything unusual happening. Yes, as a matter of fact, the Grangers _did_ have a daughter; her name was Hermione. Where was she now? Probably with her parents or at that friend of hers- the one she stayed with every year. Did she go away to school? Why yes, she did.

So now Cecilia had a name, an address, and some very vital information. She also had an answer. All the past three weeks, Cecilia had wondered why she was the one for this Slayer. What set her apart from every other- better qualified-Watcher? Well, besides her growing unrest, lousy father, and rather large inheritance. Now she knew. Her mother had shared something with Hermione Granger. The same thing Cecilia now shared with the new Slayer. A school.


	2. Chapter One

**Title: Finis**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter, and all of the characters and places associated with it, is a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters. India Cohen and Kit Bothwell were borrowed from Nancy Holder's _Buffy _tie-in _The Book of Fours_.

**Distribution: **If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.

**Summary: **India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Warning: HBP spoilers.

**a/n: **This is the latest in my Hermione-is-the-Slayer kick. Again, I'm BACK!After the first couple of chapters, this story is going to be moved to the Harry Potter category.

**mya croft- **thanks! I'm glad this hasn't turned out to be the crazy piece of badfic (of which I have a personal horror) that I expected it to be.

**Allen Pitt- **You got it pretty much right. I love insightful reviewers.

**Ringo's Wildrose- **Well, now you're seeing where I'm going with this. (see below). Hee hee.

**Please Review!

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**

**Chapter One**

**A Night to Remember**

_Run. Keep running, There's nothing I can do but run. It's coming. I can hear it behind me. It's breathing hard. The sound of it is filling my ears. It's almost as loud as my heart, but only almost. I don't think anything could be louder than my heartbeat. It's pounding a rhythm into my ears, matching the sound of my feet hitting the floor. It's going to get me, I know it. It can't get me! Help! Somebody help me! _

_Everything is sharper. I can hear the blood pumping in my veins, I can feel it. It smells strange. Like something so sweet it makes you want to gag. It's overpowering. I'm going to die. I can feel it in my bones. This thing is going to get me, but I still keep running. I can't stop running. It's coming closer. Its footsteps are getting louder. It's getting closer. _

_The footsteps have stopped, but I'm still running. I can hear the slight whistle in the air as it jumps. It lands on me. I can feel it, but it doesn't hurt. I feel like I'm not in my body. It's strange. Somehow, I register that the claws are ripping through my back, but I still can't feel the pain. I'm more attuned to everything around me; so much that there is no _me_ left. I notice everything but myself. I feel like this is all some crazy dream and I'm going to wake up any second now, but I know I won't. _

_It's burrowed almost all the way through me. I can feel the blood flowing down my back. It won't be long now. I'll be dead from the blood loss before it has a chance to rip my heart out. Is this what dying feels like? I always imagined it would feel different. More painful, for one thing. The only thing I feel is this strange conviction that someone will find me; not in time to save me, but I know I'll have a grave. And so, I have no fears. I will have my burial and the tomb will be magnificent. I can picture it in my mind's eye, clearer then anything around me. The priests will bless it, and I will have a good home in the Elysian Fields. They will know my name, as everyone knows my name, Tosia, the Vampire Slayer. _

_The claws close around my heart, and at last I feel pain. Little stars of pain dazzle my eyes. Zeus, help me, it hurts. The vision of my tomb fades and all I see is the darkness. _



Hermione Granger woke up, and sat bolt upright, clutching at her chest. The dream had felt so real; it had been as if she was Tosia. She'd been having these dreams for a while now. Once or twice a year she'd get them, but lately, it had gotten worse. The nightmares were coming every night. It had started about two weeks ago, a few days (or really, nights) before the Death Eaters had attacked the school.

_Crash!_

A loud noise from somewhere else in the house jerked Hermione from her thoughts before they could wander down the lane that Hermione had firmly repressed and labeled as forbidden. There was another crash, this one slightly quieter then the first. Hermione pulled back her covers and slipped out of bed. As she neared the door, voices drifted up to her.

"_Leave_ them," someone whispered urgently; it was a woman's voice, although it was harsher and slightly deeper then average. "We have our orders. The girl is our priority."

Hermione tensed, her hand frozen on the doorknob. _Death Eaters._ They must be downstairs… where her parents' bedroom was located.

"Why can't we just have a bit of fun with them?" a whiny voice asked.

"Yeah, they're just lying there, all quiet and helpless," another voice agreed.

The teenager re-crossed her bedroom in seconds and pulled open her nightstand drawer. Enclosed inside was a large, heavy book entitled _Hogwarts, A History_, a brush, a hair tie, and other useful odds and ends, all neatly fit into the small space. Hermione moved all of these aside and withdrew a thin wooden wand.

"We need to find the girl. We can't risk her waking up," the woman's voice snapped.

Without bothering to put her things away or close the drawer- something she had never before failed to do- the witch silently opened her door and slipped along the dark hallway. She ran down the stairs as quietly as she could, frantic thoughts chasing their way through her head.

_What if the other Death Eaters decided to ignore the woman? What if I can't fight them off? _She wondered.

She jumped down the last two steps and landed in the kitchen lightly. There were no doors here, none except the back door which let you out into the garden. Using the back stairs let you enter the kitchen from one end; the hallway opened into it from another. Right across the hall was her parents' bedroom, chosen for the view of the yard. The Death Eaters were staring into the bedroom, bickering with each other on the advisability of a few extra murders.

Hermione silently prayed that none of them would turn around and notice her head poking out of the kitchen doorway into the hallway as she assessed the Death Eaters. Aside from the three Death Eaters Hermione had heard there were two others. Both of them were tall and thin, though one was considerably older then the other. The young one was about Hermione's age, with ghostly pale skin and white-blond hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering in through the high window. The other was sallow-skinned and had greasy dark hair along with a large hooked nose that was visible even in the dim light. Hermione felt a sickening jolt of fear and anger in her stomach as she recognized them; Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

The woman who had first spoken was also a brunette, and her wasted looks slightly resembled Draco's. Unfortunately, Hermione recognized her, too, as she involuntarily clutched her wand a little bit tighter. This time the unpleasant jolt in her stomach was out of pure fear. There was no doubt in her mind that Bellatrix Lestrange would spare her, or her parents, any mercy. The other two wizards were both short; one plump, the other skinny. Neither of them looked particularly capable.

The petite pair, along with Draco, would probably be the easiest to take out. It was Lestrange and Snape Hermione had to worry about. Maybe if she just started screaming Unforgivables and jumped Snape, beating him senseless…

No, that wouldn't work at all. Hermione knew she had to think things through rationally or she, along with her parents, would be dead in seconds, but it wasn't easy when every instinct in her body was screaming for her to rescue her parents and hurt the Death Eaters. She didn't have much time to formulate a plan as the Death Eaters wouldn't argue much longer.

Bits and pieces of theories and information flitted through Hermione's head as she watched three of the people she hated more then anyone stand in her house and decide whether or not they had time for a bit of recreational torture. She resolutely pushed all thoughts of anything but her half-baked plan out of her mind as she attempted to think clearly.

Obviously, Snape and Lestrange would present the real challenge, especially Snape, who was a Legillemens, and could read minds. Somehow, she would have to get rid of them first. Perhaps if she hit Snape and Lestrange with a Stunning Charm first, before anyone knew she was downstairs? Yes, that would work, but she'd have to work fast or they'd have their wands out to block her. By the time that Lestrange was down the other three would have their wands out for sure, and they'd definitely try to kill her. If she could draw them into the kitchen and find a way to immobilize them, she'd be able to dash across the hall and use Side-Along Apparition to get to the Burrow. Except it was now impossible to Apparate to the Burrow, thanks to the new wards. Diagon Alley then. Hopefully, Fred and George would still be sleeping above their shop and would be able to help her.

Hermione nodded to herself, satisfied with her plan, and wasted no time in pointing her wand at the tallest figure in the hall and thinking, _Stupefy!_

Snape fell to the ground unconscious. She repeated the process on Bellatrix, and even managed to Stun the short, fat wizard before the other two had their wands out. _Really_, Hermione reflected, _they were _too_ slow_.

Malfoy and the skinny wizard advanced on her, wands drawn. Malfoy fired a jinx at Hermione, but she quickly ducked back into the kitchen and sprang to her feet.

"_Relashio_!" she cried as the two Death Eaters ran into the kitchen.

The two of them staggered momentarily as the jet of sparks hit them in the chest.

"Ow! You crazy cow!" Draco exclaimed angrily.

His companion, didn't bother wasting his breath.

Instead, he gasped, "_Diffindo_!" causing a large gash to appear on the side of her arm.

"_Explelliarmus!_" Malfoy said, apparently recovered.

"_Protego!_" Hermione blocked the charm just in time.

She quickly followed up with, "_Sectumsempra_!", mentally cursing herself for using one of Snape's spells.

"_Protego_!" the short wizard blocked her spell.

Hermione edged towards the door and yelled,

"_Impedimenta!_"

She didn't bother to look back and appreciate the effects of her spell as she ran across the hall, jumping over the unconscious bodies of Snape, Lestrange, and the unknown Death Eater, into her parents' bedroom. She slammed the door behind her, muttered "_Colloportus_,", and ran to the bed, silently thanking God for her parents' habit of sleeping with earplug in; they hated the noise of the city street outside. She didn't want to imagine what could have happened if they had woken up and decided to get in the middle of her duel.

Hermione began to shake her father, trying to rouse him. It didn't work. Frantic, worried, and in an understandable rush, Hermione raised her wand, pointed it at him, and said, "_Aguamenti_."

A jet of water shot out and hit him in the face, soaking Mr. Granger soundly. That _did _wake him.

"Hermione?" he asked groggily, reaching up to remove his earplugs, "What's going on?"

She ignored him, choosing to turn around and point her wand at the slowly opening door, which had emitted a small click just seconds before.

"_Reducto_!" she shouted.

The door, and the people behind it, flew backwards with a loud splintering sound before crashing into the hallway wall. Hermione turned around to answer her father,

"We're in trouble," she said simply, "I can get us out of here, but we've got to get Mum up."

Ignoring his look of surprise, she reached over him to wake her mother up. This time she skipped shaking Mrs. Granger, but went straight to the "_Aguamenti_," Charm.

Once again, she had to answer questions they didn't have time for.

"Mum, Dad, get out of bed and grab my hand," she ordered, not sounding nearly as calm as she wished.

Both of her parents' eyes widened and they opened their mouths to say something. Hermione cut them off.

"We don't have enough time to ask-," she began, but stopped as both of her parents slumped forward on the bed, unconscious.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that night, Hermione whipped around and found two very bruised, bloody, and utterly revolting Death Eaters with their wands trained on her.

"_Incendio_!" Hermione yelled.

The curse hit Malfoy on the leg.

"_Aguamenti_!" he said, dousing his leg.

Hermione edged away from the bed, hoping to keep her parents out of the line of fire.

"_Incarcerous!_" she shouted.

"_Protego!_" the short wizard cried, effectively blocking her spell.

"_Reducto_!" he cried, seconds' later.

"_Stupefy_! _Stupefy_!" she yelled, right before the Reductor Curse hit her.

She flew backwards and crashed into the hand-made wooden desk her mother had gotten for Christmas years ago.

"_Petrificus totalus!_" Malfoy bellowed, trying to freeze the spell.

Needless to say, it didn't work. The Full Body Bind hit her at the same moment as a piece of wood splintered off the shattered desk and pierced her heart. She froze, eyes closed, unconscious and a split-second away from total death.


	3. Chapter Two

**Title: Finis**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter, and all of the characters and places associated with it, is a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters.

**Distribution: **If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.

**Summary: **India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Warning: HBP spoilers.

**a/n: **Unsurprisingly, I'm now not sure whether or not I'm going to move this story to the Harry Potter category. When I do decide, I'll warn you ahead of time.

**Gaul1- **thank you!

**PLEASE review!

* * *

**

**Chapter Two**

**The Pick-Up**

If you were to look inside Number Four, Privet Drive, you would see an assortment of normal, everyday things (and one very abnormally large teenage boy) scattered throughout every room of the house but one. In this last room (the smallest bedroom in the house) you wouldn't think there was anything extraordinary, at first. But, on closer inspection, you would see that the open trunk on the bedroom floor was filled with robes, brightly colored boxes with moving pictures on them, and books with titles like _Spellman's Syllabary _and _Advanced Potion Making. _If you looked very closely, you would notice that the papers strewn on top of the bed were really parchment and the teenager who slept on top of them was holding a quill pen clutched in his hand.

If you looked even closer, still, you would see a thin, red scar shaped like a lightning bolt that was right in the middle of his forehead. It was a very unusual scar, but Harry Potter was a very unusual boy. He was about as unusual as it was possible to be, even for a wizard. Harry was currently laboring under the heavy task of sleeping, his light snores mingling with the much louder ones of his uncle and cousin.

Now, he didn't often snore, but he was tonight, since there was a piece of parchment stuck to his face thanks to the large amount of ink and drool that had spilled onto it. And although his relatives might be having peaceful dreams, Harry was definitely not.

_A heavy silver locket with an ornate silver _S _engraved on the front dangled in front of his eyes, just out of reach. It disappeared and a long, thick snake slithered into view. A golden cup with badger-shaped handles revolved in the air above a handsome dark-haired teen named Tom. The boy's feature blurred, the pupils became snake-like, and the eyes turned red, making him the skeletally grotesque man who frequented so many nightmares. _

_Voldemort's face changed into that of a greasy-haired man who's face was illuminated in a flash of green light as an old, silver-bearded man fell of a tower. On the way down, Dumbledore turned into Sirius, who turned into James, who turned into Lily, who turned into another redhead, this one a teenager. She hit the ground, face up, and Harry could see Ginny's hazel eyes staring wide open, her arms and legs lying at odd angles. Something hard hit him on the head._

_Something hard hit him on the head?_

As if from very far away, Harry heard a mild voice saying, "Harry, wake up."

Something hit him on the side of the head again, and a woman's voice said, "Mad Eye!"

Harry opened his eyes slightly and saw three people standing over him, although most of his view was obstructed by the piece of parchment directly in front of his face.

"Well, we need him to wake up," a voice growled, "Wake up, Potter."

"He was waking up anyway," the woman sniffed.

Harry slowly sat up and winced as he pulled the piece of parchment from his face.

"Here, let me do that," Lupin said, taking his wand out.

"_Scourigfy_," he said.

The ink and saliva mixture that had been stuck to Harry's face disappeared. Meanwhile, the woman with a heart-shaped face and vividly red hair was looking at some of the letters from Ginny and Ron that were scattered across the bed.

"Hey, do you mind if I sell these to the _Daily Prophet_?" Tonks asked. "I bet they'd pay a fortune for the "Chosen One's" letters."

"That's nothing to joke about," Moody snapped, "Who knows what kind of ideas You Know Who could get from those letters."

Remus chuckled lightly as Harry tried to ignore the sudden pain in his heart at his words. Now, what kind of ideas could Voldemort get from one of Ginny's carefully friendly letters…

"I'm not joking," Tonks defended herself, "I'm perfectly serious. Half the _Prophet _is about Harry these days."

"I'll let you sell Kreacher, instead," Harry said darkly. "I 'spect they'd pay loads for an in-depth interview with my mental house elf."

Tonks snorted and dumped the letters, spare pieces of parchment, half-finished replies, quills, and an ink bottle into the open trunk. Moody took out a pocket watch and checked the time.

"Hurry up," the grizzled ex-Auror said impatiently as Tonks snapped Harry's trunk closed, "We've got forty-one seconds until the Portkey leaves."

"_Locomotor trunk_." Tonks said, pointing her wand at the now-packed trunk.

It levitated into the air and awaited direction.

"Portkey?" Harry asked, following the others to the center of the room and touching a finger to the pocket watch.

"Yeah," Tonks explained, "The new wards won't let us Apparate here, the Burrow, Hermione's, Hogwarts, or any number of other places. And flying is too risky right now."

"What about the Floo?" Harry pointed out.

"The Grangers' house isn't connected," Moody answered.

"Hermione's?" Harry asked. "What does that have to do-,"

Any other questions he might have asked were cut off as they were all jerked forward by the Portkey. Seconds later, they were staggering, windswept, on a cheerful looking porch.

"Where are we?" Harry asked gazing around.

They were in a neighborhood quite a bit like Privet Drive, minus the nosy face of Aunt Petunia staring out one of the windows. The porch the quartet was currently standing on wasn't overly large, but a wicker table, chairs, and quite a few potted plants still fit on it quite comfortably.

"Hermione's," Lupin answered, "We're picking her up, too. Saves time."

"Oh."

Tonks rang the doorbell. No one answered. She rang the doorbell again. Still, no one opened the door. After the fourth time, Lupin turned the knob. The door swung open, unlocked. With a feeling of foreboding, Harry withdrew his wand and followed the others inside.

There didn't seem to be anything amiss here, either. The tiled foyer had been swept clean and a quick check revealed nothing wrong in the living room to the left. Remus and Tonks went up the staircase that rose to the right to investigate, leaving Harry with Moody.

"C'mon," Moody growled, motioning Harry to follow him down the hallway.

Harry complied, and they spent the next three or four minutes looking in the small guest room, the predictably well-stocked library, and the little office that was connected to it. The duo had just exited the small office when both of them tripped over something squishy.

"Oof!" Harry exclaimed, pushing himself up.

He turned around to help Moody up, but found the scarred old man already standing. He was staring through the splintered, recently door-less, entrance to the last bedroom on the hall.

"Potter, get Lupin," he said.

There was something urgent in his tone of voice, in the way that it shook slightly, uncertainly, that compelled Harry to walk over and see what it was that had startled the normally unflappable wizard so much. And when he saw, he froze.

There were two brown-haired adults slumped over on the bed, but Harry didn't see them. There were another two bodies, these covered in cuts and bruises, crumpled on the floor, but Harry didn't see them either. What he _did_ see was a bushy-haired figure lying frozen on top of a pile of splintered wood, with a dark red stain the size of his hand covering part of her chest. _Hermione_. _No, not Hermione, Hermione's body. Ohgodohgodohgod. _

His eyes widened as he stumbled across the room to the body.

Frantic, slightly crazed, thoughts chased each other through his head at a dizzying rate.

_How could she be dead? She was his friend, Hermione wasn't allowed to be dead. What was he going to do? What was _Ron _going to do? Who was going to lecture them and glare whenever they did something stupid? Who was going to show the First Years where to go? _He was shaking her now. _Who was going to help him research, and help act disapproving about Ron and Phlegm? Who was going to help him out of whatever crazy situation he found himself in next? Who was going to be bossy and stop Ron from getting drunk in Hogsmeade?_

Harry didn't realize until afterwards that he must've been yelling, because someone gently pried his hands away from where he'd been clutching Hermione's shirt and said, "Shh, it's going to be all right."

It was Tonks, and her voice was surprisingly gentle, although he could see the tears running down her cheeks, too.

"How is it going to be alright?" Harry demanded savagely. "One of my best friends is dead! D'you hear me? She's _dead_!"

"_No_," Lupin's voice broke in, "She's not. Or might not be. She _is_ frozen, though."

He was now the one kneeling by Hermione's body, his wand was out and there seemed to be a film of white smoke obscuring the two of them.

"Potter, take the Portkey to the Burrow. Tonks, get the girl to St. Mungo's. Lupin, get over here and help me get all of this scum together," Moody ordered, gesturing to the Death Eaters.

"No," Harry objected, the haze in his mind beginning to clear, "I want to go to St. Mungo's, too."

Lupin opened his mouth to object, but surprisingly, Moody was the one who agreed.

"Let him go, it'll be easier to get a private room if the "Chosen One" asks for it, anyway," he said gruffly, pulling the pocket watch out and leaving the room.

"Where is he going?" Harry cried, alarmed.

Their only way of transportation had just been carried out the … well, not door, but close enough.

"He's going to re-enchant the Portkey," Tonks told him, blinking furiously, "We can't do too much magic in here, now. We don't know how long the spell's been on her; too much magic in close proximity can cause the spell to wear off faster."

Harry nodded absently. He shifted from foot to foot impatiently until Moody came back, the pocket watch in his hand.

"You've got a minute before it leaves," he told them.

Tonks nodded; Harry just stared ahead blankly. His friends could _not_ die. It just wasn't right. He needed them, more then anything. He'd never been able to do anything without their help. If they died it would be impossible to face Voldemort; for the first time since he'd entered the Wizarding World, he'd be truly alone.

"Harry?" Lupin's voice broke through his rather dour thoughts.

Harry blinked and noticed the werewolf standing in front of him, holding Hermione in his arms gingerly. At first Harry didn't realize why he looked so cautious, but then he realized it was because he didn't want to disturb the foot-long piece of wood protruding from Hermione's back. He also noticed, for the first time, that Hermione was really frozen, in the not moving at all sense.

"Hold your arms out," Lupin directed.

Harry complied and Lupin transferred Hermione's body to his arms. He felt something small, hard, and smooth being pressed into his hand. Tonks was holding the other end of it, and Harry realized it was the pocket watch. Within seconds they were whisked away, and the silent trio found themselves standing in the unusually empty lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Looking around, Harry spotted a number of large and colorful posters advertising the grand opening of the brand new Pharmacy ("A new way to get all of your Healer-prescribed potion needs!") with that day's date on it, and figured that was where everyone was.

"Follow me," Tonks said, obviously having come to the same conclusion, "There'll still be Healers with the patients upstairs."

Harry nodded and followed her, but they had barely taken ten steps before a crowd of people came bursting into the lobby. Among them, Harry spotted several uniformed Healers, reporters, photographers, and victims of backfired jinxes who seemed to be trying to get one of the Healers' attention. As soon as the first people began to spot Harry, Tonks, and Hermione, a murmur began to spread throughout the crowd and flashbulbs went off. The throng of people immediately began to press forward, while Healers vainly tried to stop them.

Harry ignored Tonks' protests and the Healer's attempts to contain the crowd, and instead walked forward and grabbed a Healer by the arm.

"Harry, what are your views on the attack at Hogwarts?" a blonde witch with two intertwined golden W's on her sleeve, the symbol of Witch Weekly magazine, shouted at him as she attempted to get past a rather large MediWizard.

"She needs help," Harry told the Healer he'd grabbed urgently, ignoring the yells of the group, "She's a friend of mine. Hermione. There was a Death Eater attack at her house-,"

The Healer cut him off.

"Right this way," he said, "Follow me. We need to get her down to the emergency ward."

Harry followed, the reporters still trying to get him to answer their questions.

"Hello, Harry," a vague voice Harry recognized said.

Harry paused and looked back, checking to see if his suspicions were right. There was no duplicating that dreamy voice, though. Sure enough, there was Luna Lovegood, standing at the edge of the loud mass of people as if this were an everyday occurrence.

"Wait!" he shouted to the MediWizard who was pushing them back. "Let them through! I know them… well, Luna, anyway."

The MediWizard obeyed and let Luna through to him.

"Hello, Harry," she said pleasantly, as if they weren't running away from an almost-mob with a half-dead girl who needed medical attention.

"Hi, Luna," he answered, running after the Healer he was supposed to be following.

"So, what are you doing here?" Luna asked as she began to run to keep up with him.

"Er, Hermione," he half-gestured with his shoulder at Hermione's still form.

"What happened to her?" Luna asked again.

"Not quite sure yet," Harry replied shortly.

The Healer stopped abruptly in front of a door with a sign that read, "Room Number 1095." He pushed through the door and gestured to a hospital bed similar to the ones found in Muggle hospitals.

"Put her down there," he said.

Harry did.

"Now, what exactly happened to her?" the wizard asked, taking down a clipboard with a sheaf of parchment attached to it and a quill.

"There was a Death Eater attack," Harry began, reaching back into his mind to describe what he'd seen. Er, I think she Stunned a couple of them. We found her lying in a pile of wood; it looked like it had been furniture- maybe a table? Lupin said she'd been frozen, so I'm guessing he was talking about Petrificus Totalus. Oh, and we're not supposed to use magic around her."

The Healer nodded and wrote all of this down on the parchment. He had just finished when the door opened and another Healer burst in, followed by a very disgruntled looking Tonks.

"Did you get their information?" the second Healer asked the first.

Healer number one nodded.

Before Harry could fully grasped what was happening, he, Luna, and Tonks were ushered outside of the room and into chairs in the secluded hallway.

"What were you thinking?" Tonks demanded as soon as the door closed. "Any number of things could have happened to you without me. There could have been a Death Eater in that crowd wanting to sabotage this event who decided to take advantage of the opportunity and do you in!"

Harry's eyebrows rose at this uncharacteristic outburst and the far-fetched theory that accompanied it.

"And besides that, without you I had to argue with this complete prat of a security guard who wouldn't believe I was an Auror! Apparently," she continued indignantly, "'Auror's don't have red and gold hair"! I suppose there aren't any blondes or redheads in the department, then. And here I thought I would have noticed something like that."

Looking at her closely, for the first time that day, Harry noticed that there were, indeed, bright gold locks of hair slashing through the crimson.

"Well, I like your hair, anyway," he told her truthfully.

Tonks smiled slightly.

"Thank you. Glad _someone_ mentioned it." she said with a sniff.

Harry thought that was a curious statement to make, but forgot about it as Luna asked,

"How'd you convince him to let you through?"

"I Jinxed him," Tonks replied complacently.

Harry snorted before another thought occurred to him.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" he asked Luna curiously.

"Daddy got passes for us so he could cover the opening for _The Quibbler_." She answered.

"Oh," Harry said, surprised.

The grand opening of the new pharmacy seemed like a strangely normal subject for _The Quibbler_, which covered … _unusual_ …. subjects as a rule.

"Yes," Luna said, nodding, apparently under the impression that his "oh," was one of curiosity rather than surprise, "We think the pharmacy might be a secret plot of You Know Who's to poison the patients."

"That's… That's a possibility," Tonks agreed with a slightly strangled tone of voice.

Harry carefully avoided looking at her, knowing that if he did, they would both burst out laughing, and that wouldn't be fair. No matter how "loony" Luna might be, at least she was helping to keep their minds off of what was going on behind the closed door in front of them.



Harry, Luna, and Tonks had been sitting in the hall for just over two hours when a storm of redheads (with the odd brunette, or grey-haired person) descended on them. Seconds later, Harry was wrapped up in a big hug, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, Harry, thank Merlin you're all right. How's Hermione?" she asked worriedly.

"We… don't… know…yet," Harry gasped.

"Mum, I think you're suffocating him," Fred pointed out unnecessarily.

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley said, springing back from him.

"Thanks," Harry murmured.

"What happened?" Ron asked franticly, pushing his brothers and sister out of the way so he could get to Harry.

"Yeah," Bill said, "Lupin said something about Death Eaters at the Grangers'."  
Once again, Harry told what little he knew. At the end the Weasleys and Fleur looked surprised.

"Hang on, Hermione managed to get three Death Eaters?" George whistled.

"Five, actually," Lupin corrected, coming up to them.

Harry's eyes widened, as did everyone else's. When Lupin had first come to pick Harry up, he had looked perfectly fine- healthier then usual, actually. Now, there were cuts and scratches all over his face and the skin around his left eye was beginning to turn purple.

"Remus, what happened?" Tonks gasped, going over to him.

It was Moody answered, revealing himself to be standing right behind the werewolf.

"He got into a bit of a fight with two of those Death Eaters," the scarred man said.

Harry had expected Moody to be stern and begin lecturing them all on the dangers of attacking Death Eaters if you don't have to. However, the ex-Auror seemed…_smug. _It was almost as if he was proud of Lupin's actions.

"What!" everyone exclaimed.

Lupin looked unrepentant and muttered something about the two slimy bastards (Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows rose) deserving what they got.

Ginny, of course, had to ask, "Who were the slimy bastards?"

"Ginny!" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both reprimanded.

Ginny rolled her eyes unabashedly.

Harry noticed Lupin hesitated before giving the answer.

"Lestrange-," he began.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and Tonks cut him off simultaneously.

"What? That cow was at Hermione's?" Ron burst out.

"Did you do her in?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"I hope you left a bruise." Harry said.

"We'll lend you some of our stuff if you give it another go," Fred offered.

"Hell, we'll help," George agreed with his twin.

"-and Snape," Lupin continued, undeterred.

This time it sounded as if a bomb had gone off in the quiet hallway, so loud were the rants, death threats, wishes of violence, and other similarly happy sentiments. For once, Mrs. Weasley didn't object to the less-then-polite words uttered. In fact, she seemed to say quite a few of them herself. However, the din was ended by a voice shouting,

"Will you lot shut up!"

As one, the open mouths closed when they realized the voice had been issued from behind the closed door; Harry recognized it belonged to the Healer who had led him there.

Mrs. Weasley took out her wand and conjured everyone more chairs. They had been waiting and talking to each other for about an hour when Tonks stood up and stretched.

"I'm going to get something to eat," she said. "Anyone want anything?"

The rest of them shouted orders and turned back to what their respective conversations. Harry was slightly surprised when Lupin got up and went with her, but figured they just wanted to spend more time together. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Lupin and Tonks were dating. In all of the hours he had seen them together (roughly three) they didn't seem to be overly affectionate together. Maybe they had broken up. He turned back to the twins, who had been telling him and Ron about the new product ideas they had for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, their joke shop.

Thirty minutes later, neither one of them had come back.

"Hey, Mum," Ginny said, looking up from her conversation with Luna on the plausibility of the Rotfang Conspiracy, "Where've Tonks and Remus gotten off to?"

Mrs. Weasley looked around and obviously didn't see them.

"They probably got held up in the line. There was an awful horde of people here for the Pharmacy opening when we arrived. Why don't you go see what's holding them up?" she suggested.

Ginny got up.

"Anyone else want to come?" she asked looking around at the group.

Harry stood up, knowing that he didn't want to see her go off alone, even if there was that awful plunging feeling in his stomach when he saw Ginny turn around with a questioning look on her face, her smile faltering slightly before she hitched it back in place. Thankfully, Ron saw what was going on and came to his rescue.

"I'll go," he said, "What about you, Luna?"

Luna stood up, too, her Butterbeer cap necklace jingling.

"I suppose. I wonder if it's true that there's cooked goblins in the pies left over from Cornelius Fudge's day as Minister," she mused.

Fred hastily shoved his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing at the look that both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley shot him.

"Aah, I s'pose we could use something to eat, right George?" he asked quickly.

George rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say," he snorted, pulling himself out of his chair.

It seemed like that was it, as Fleur and Bill were too busy snogging to think of coming up for air; Mrs. Weasley had gone back to her tasks of alternately glaring at them disapprovingly and reading the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. Mr. Weasley was quizzing Moody on all of the Muggle appliances he had seen at the Granger's house, causing Moody to look quite annoyed.

The six of them set off to the fifth floor. Just like the last time they had been there, the portraits of dead Healers kept shouting things at them on their way up.

The annoying Healer from the Middle Ages who had embarrassed Ron two years' ago yelled out, "I see you haven't gotten rid of that spattergroit yet! Mark my words, you've only got a few years left before the ailment-."

At this point Ron, blushing furiously, had taken his wand out and cast a Silencing Charm on the portrait. He was still red when they reached the Fifth Floor, but that might have been because Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry had kept up a steady stream of jokes about his "spattergroit" ever since the Healer had been quieted. Even worse (for Ron, anyway) was Luna's sincere interest in spattergroit, which led her to keep asking him about it. It was with some relief that he pointed out the crowded cafeteria and said,

"Merlin, look at all these people!"

There were certainly a lot of people. It seemed that Mrs. Weasley's original assessment had been correct that Tonks and Remus were stuck in the line.

"Why don't we split up and try to find them?" Harry suggested.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, perking up suddenly, "With any luck you'll be able to get us to the front of the line."

Harry snorted.

"I doubt they'd do that," he said doubtfully.

"Sure they would," Fred countered, "We came a good two hours after you, judging by what good ol' Moody told us, and people were still hanging around hoping for a glimpse of "The Chosen One"."

"Then, these people here…"

Harry trailed off.

The others caught on quickly; Ron drew close to Harry.

"Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?" he whispered quietly so no one could hear; Fred, George, and Ginny were busy arguing about the best way to hide Harry while Luna was having a conversation with the portrait of a slightly batty looking old witch.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Put it on," Ron told him, "Quick! No one's looking over here, yet. But it'd be just like on of those reporter gits to get a look at you and start a bloody mob."

"Hold on a sec," Harry said, rummaging in his pocket. He pulled it out of the small space with difficulty. As always, the silvery material felt like woven water and didn't hold a single wrinkle.

Taking a quick look around to make sure there really was no one looking, Harry slid the cloak over his shoulders.

"I'll look with you," he whispered to Ron, leaving the others behind and sifting through the crowd, "Don't want anyone wondering why it felt like someone stepped on their foot when no one's near them."

"Good idea, mate," Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth.

They looked in silence for a few minutes until Ron said, "Hey! I see Tonks!"

Harry looked over his shoulder.

"Where?" he asked loudly, causing several people nearby to look over _their _shoulders.

"There!" Ron pointed to a head of bright pink hair standing near a table, not seeing the startled looks he was getting.

A tiny little girl nearby asked, "Why is he talking to himself?"

"Shh," her mother quieted, "He's probably gotten out of the Spell Damage Ward. One of the Healers will come get him soon."

Perhaps it was lucky that Ron and Harry didn't hear this, as there is no telling what the little girl might have heard.

Meanwhile, Harry was telling Ron that Tonks' hair was currently red and gold.

"But she's a Metamorphmagus," Ron pointed out, "Couldn't she just change her hair?"

Harry could have smacked himself in the head for being so dense when he remembered something.

"Then where's Remus?" he asked. "They wouldn't have split up if they were just standing in line."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Ron said,

"They didn't split up. Actually, I think they're pretty glued together." He chocked out.

He had a startled, mildly dumbfounded, expression on his face. Harry followed his line of site until his gaze rested on a couple snogging heatedly together. Beyond them was an empty table loaded down with enough food to feed an army- or the Weasleys and assorted guests. Harry was momentarily so surprised that the cloak fell off of him and hit the ground, causing several people to gasp as he was revealed, and his face soon mirrored Ron's open-jawed, wide-eyed expression (although no one could see it). It was Lupin and Tonks.

"Bloody hell!" George exclaimed, coming up to them.

Fred, Ginny, and Luna followed him.

Fred whistled.

"Hey, Professor!" he called.

Lupin and Tonks broke apart, startled, just as Fred let loose with a wolf howl, causing several people (Remus and Tonks included, even if they were blushing) to snicker. Ginny merely rolled her eyes at her brother's antics and went over to sit with the embarrassed couple as Harry hastily swept the Invisibility Cloak off of the tiled floor, casting the onlookers guilty looks.

"So," Ginny said faux-casually, "What have you two been up to?"

"Ha ha," Lupin said dryly, "Very funny."

"I thought so," she said complacently.

"Watch it, or those snacks might mysteriously go up flames," Tonks warned.

Ginny's mouth snapped shut. Unlike her brothers' threats, Tonks always meant business.

"I don't see how you could," Luna mused, "since Ronald just summoned all of the food so he could eat all of the Fizzing Whizbees."

Ron looked up, his arm plunged into the bag, which was perched on top of the bags and boxes precariously, almost to the elbow and blushed as Harry laughed, although Harry was laughing at the expression on Tonks' face, as was everyone else. Tonks looked like it was difficult to stop herself from retorting.

"Come on," she said, "And you get your hand out of that bag and leave something for the rest of us."

Ron rolled his eyes, "We've already got all the rest of this stuff, who's going to miss the Fizzing Whizbees?"

"Me," Tonks, Lupin, Harry, Ginny, and the twins said at once.

Ron looked disgruntled and withdrew his hand from the bag.

"How'd you guys get this stuff so fast, anyway?" Harry asked as they walked back downstairs.

Tonks rolled her eyes and grinned.

"That Healer I jinxed was one of the people serving lunch today, since they're so understaffed, so I… persuaded him," Tonks answered tactfully.

George snorted.

"Threatened, is more like," he said.

He got a wink in return.

"Now, I never said that, did I?" she asked the group at large, although she was talking to Remus.

"No, I don't believe you did," Lupin answered seriously, but he was grinning. "And this is where we get off." He added, turning into a ward marked "The Gunhilda Gorsemoor Ward. Extensive Spell Damage." according to the sign in front of the door,

"It is?" Luna asked surprisedly. "I thought we were going back downstairs to wait for Hermione."

"We are. He meant he and Tonks are stopping here," Ginny explained to Luna, although not without sending Lupin and Tonks a glance that plainly asked, "What's going on?"

Even though both of them obviously understood the redhead's unspoken question, neither one of them answered it. Instead, they merely told them to come up and let them know when Hermione woke up and walked into a ward. As soon as the door closed and the pair's backs were turned, Fred and George each slipped a number of Extendable Ears, their own personal listening device which was sold in their store, and handed them around to the other four, keeping one each for themselves.

"Let's see what they're up to, eh?" George asked, raising his flesh-colored string to Harry and Ron in a mock toast.

The others slipped their respective Ears into their…ears and watched the Extendables slither towards the door. However, no sounds of conversation filled their real ears. They waited expectantly for several more minutes before accepting defeat. After they had taken the Extendable Ears out, Ginny picked up a gum wrapper from the floor and flicked it at the door. The wrapper soared away about four inches before it made contact with the hard surface.

"She _had _to go and make the door Imperturbable," Ginny groused later as they made their way back down to the first floor, referring to Tonks, of course.

"'Course she did," Fred said dismissively, "Wasn't Tonks the one who taught you how to check if the door's been Imperturbed? Besides, they must've known we'd have them now, since we sell them in our store."

However, he didn't sound angry or disappointed about this last bit. Instead, there was a curious little gleam in his eyes that George, his twin and partner in "crime" (aka the spread of mischief), seemed to recognize immediately, as it was soon mirrored in his own blue orbs. Both of them immediately slowed down so they were walking behind the other four, although the sounds of whispered conversation drifted up to them, too indistinct to distinguish separate words.

"Wish we hadn't given back those Extendables, huh?" Ron said in an undertone to Harry.

"They'd have noticed," Harry reminded him.

"Well, yeah, but I'd give anything to know what they're planning." Ron admitted.

Harry normally would've written off the subject, but there was something carefully light and slightly forced that had been in his voice all day long that kept Harry talking on the subject. Especially since he strongly suspected his voice probably sounded very similar. Everyone's had the strained quality, but he and Ron probably sounded the worst. He could tell, from the way Mrs. Weasley had been sending them sympathetic glances and Moody's shrewd, questioning ones. But that was straying down the path of Unhappy Thoughts, and he'd had enough of brooding. After all, there was no point to it. Not when she was going to be healed any minute, now. It had only been a Muggle wound, Harry had seen Madam Pomfrey fix cuts in seconds. This was just a much bigger cut, that was all.

_So, why,_ asked the little voice in his head, _Has it already been hours?_

Harry resolutely ignored the voice and focused his thoughts back to Fred and George, putting all of his willpower into the sentence that came next. Next to him, although Ron hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, he knew Ron was doing the exact same thing. Because best friends were constant; friendship was supposed to be unshakeable; the one thing that would never change, no matter what else did. And once again, their friendship was being shaken up. But this time it wasn't for some little reason like unrequited crushes. This time it was life or death, and there was nothing they could do to help.

They had reached the First Floor. There was the Lobby, filled with the same colorful Ministry issued posters advertising health safety and protecting yourself from Death Eaters; the Grand Opening posters had already been taken down. They were turning left now, along yet another picture-lined hallway. Past all of the different Artifacts Incidents wards ("Mindila Miffut Ward. Extreme Incidents.". "Zephyrus Zonko Ward. Mischief related Injuries.) and into the hall with the sign "Emergency Patients. Trained Healers, MediWizards and Immediate Family Admitted Only." hanging over it. They passed the numbered doors, which Harry just noticed. There, in front of Room Number 1095, the remaining Weasleys, Fleur (the Weasley-to-be), and Moody were sitting, all entrenched in deep conversation with each other.

"How do you think she's going to take it?" Bill asked concernedly.

"Granger's a good kid- level-headed- but I don't think she'll take it well at all," Moody said bluntly.

Harry threw an arm out and Ron did the same, catching the twins in the chest. Fred and George opened their mouths to say something, but Ginny made a shushing motion and gestured to the grimly conversing Order members, who had yet to notice them standing there.

"Now, Remus said there was still a chance of them making it through. The Healers must be working franticly," Mrs. Weasley pointed out.

Moody snorted.

"Molly, we tried _Priori Incatatem_ on all of the Death Eater's wands, and the Malfoy boy's wand showed exactly what he did to them. If the Healers haven't saved them by now, there's no way they're going to survive." Moody said.

"Alastor, surely there's some way to stop it from progressing in them at the very least," Mr. Weasley protested.

"Dad, there can't be. If their organs really are enlarging, there's nothing to be done," Bill told his father.

"_Oui_," Fleur said, nodding her silvery head, "Zey can't try to reeplaze the parts beecauze eet ees all of ze organs zat are growing too fast, and zey would be too busy trying to stop the growth, zat if zey tried to reeplaze zee organs, zer would be too much time for zee eegzizting ones to burst."

"So they are really going to die then?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her eyes beginning to tear up.

Bill nodded gently.

"There's still hope," he admitted, "Just…"

"Not enough," Mr. Weasley finished.

"It'll be almost impossible for them to recover," Bill continued, "In fact, they probably won't last the night."

"Zat poor zing," Fleur murmured.

"Where's she going to live?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"With us, of course!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking at her husband as though he was mad. "She and Harry are practically part of the family, anyway, and Ginny loves her!"

"I know that," Mr. Weasley said patiently, "But we have to get in contact with her Muggle relatives, if she has any, and make it official. And if she doesn't, there's still papers to be filed with the Muggle courts. I suppose we'll have to get the Ministry involved- the Muggle Liaisons Department will take care of the records on that side. Then, there's the matter of her parents' will, and if the Board of Governors will even leave Hogwarts open, because if they don't, we'll have to send everyone to Beauxbatons to finish schooling, in which case, we would need to be her legal guardians, since in the Muggle World she won't be an adult until September, and would need to have adult permission to cross borders, just like Harry."

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, after this long speech was over, "That's quite a bit we have to do then. I suppose we should get cracking. Bill, will you-,"

"I'll go right over to the Ministry and explain things, Mum," he said, getting out of his chair, kissing Fleur goodbye, and Disapparating.

"Will ze girl get better, 'erself?" Fleur asked, unusually subdued. "'ow will zey manage to get zat steeck from out of 'er 'eart? Surely Summoning Spells won't do eet, zat would be far too large for such a delicate job, no? Ees she even steel alive? 'er 'eart may already 'ave stopped."

"She is still alive," Mrs. Weasley said fiercely, "There's every hope in the world that the Healers will be able to get that horrid stick out of her chest and she'll be up and about in no time, I don't doubt that for a second."

"Still, eet ees sad zat 'er parents are going to die," Fleur said, showing a surprising amount of sympathy. "But I 'ave to get to work, my sheeft starts in 'alf an 'our."

She, too, got up, turned on her heel, and Disapparated with a resounding _crack!_

Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and even Luna were frozen to their respective spots, all of the color drained from their faces. Suddenly, all of the boxes and bags of snacks toppled from Ron's arms loudly, but he was too stunned to notice. Moody and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, however, were not.

They all spun around, Moody's round blue-eye once again stuck staring forward, so that they had the added unpleasant sensation of both of those piercingly bizarre eyes looking at them at once.

"We didn't mean for any of you to find out that way," Mr. Weasley began.

"We would've told you, but thought that it might be too much," Mrs. Weasley said at the same time, her plump, kind face imploring them not to repeat what they had overheard.

Moody, however, did not say anything apologetically.

Instead, he told them, "So I suppose you lot finally managed to overhear something without those Extra Ears, or whatever the hell they're called. And now you're not going to say a damned word about it. And you four," he continued, fixing the four present Weasleys with a stare, "Aren't going to row with your parents because they didn't tell you right away, because no one really wants to think of it, and the first thing Granger will need when she wakes up is one of you blurting out her parents are going to die. Potter, Lovegood, that goes for you, too. Now, sit your arses down."

They did. Even Fred, George, and Ron, all of whom were now adults. Moody looked fierce.

"You've got questions," Moody barked, "That's understandable, but none of us has all of the answers yet. You two," he pointed at Fred and George, "are already in the Order. And you two," his gnarled moved to Harry and Ron, "are going to be soon. This isn't some stupid question of your maturity or our trust in you, this is a question of whether or not you'd be able to lie to your friend. We don't think you can. However, I think that you'll be able to keep her mind on things that have absolutely no emotional relevance to any of you, since you've been doing that all day, anyway. So, you are under no circumstances to mention her parents to Granger if and when she wakes up."

Everyone but Luna, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, opened their mouths to argue with one part or the other of what Moody had just said. Luna, however, asked, "Why?" which quieted everyone down at once.

The ex-Auror looked at her approvingly.

"You ask the right questions, girl," he said. "The answer is simple. Granger is almost dead right now, which is supposed to be a "very traumatic experience"," it was clear that the words were not his, "I wouldn't know, been almost done in too many times to have an opinion, but that, along with her parents dying, could be enough to send her into Magical Shock. What's Magical Shock?" he asked, correctly interpreting the hastily opened mouths, "It's what happened to Tonks last year, after that fiasco at the Ministry- she couldn't Metamorphose. It's what happens when shock makes some witch or wizard unable to use their powers. Seen it happen to some of the best, and McGonagall reckons Granger could be one of the best, which means we need her, same as we need everyone else's. Understood?" he barked.

Harry felt the anger bubbling inside of him. So his friend was just some tool? Another "weapon" against Voldemort? That was the only reason Moody was there? To make sure they didn't tell her something any one of them would want to know? Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had his wand out.

"Alastor," Mrs. Weasley said angrily, "Are you trying to tell me that the only reason-."

Moody cut her off.

"Molly, you know that's not what I'm saying. But this is war right now, and they need to understand that these kinds of things happen in a war. It wasn't the first time people have been killed and it won't be the last. They've got to learn to think of what's best for everyone and deal with it," he said, "And I've got to get upstairs and check what's going on with security here. There was supposed to be a Task Force sent out from the Ministry an hour ago."

He, too, Disapparated before anyone could start shouting at him, leaving behind a group of very irate individuals who began to take their anger out on each other.

"What'd he mean by that?" Fred yelled. ""We've got to learn…" Funny, I thought I'd left the learning behind at Hogwarts."

"Well, maybe if you had finished your year at Hogwarts, he might not think you were so immature!" Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "Flying off after turning a corridor into a _swamp_, there's a wonderfully adult thing to do! What people must have thought, I don't know!"

"And it turned out just fine!" George countered. "We're rolling in Galleons, now!"

"And Hermione's not supposed to know about her parents!" Ginny screeched. "If anything happens to you, are they going to do the same thing to us?"

"NO!" Mr. Weasley said. "Do you really think we'd do that to you?"

"I didn't think that you'd do that to Hermione, either, but here we are!" Ginny yelled back.

Harry and Ron were simply yelling at each other, but they stopped and stared at the other two "duelists" for a moment. Neither one of them had never heard any of the Weasleys children (Ron included) yell at their parents like this, and they certainly had never heard the parents yell back like this, either. Sure, Mrs. Weasley might yell and lecture the twins on occasion, but they had never yelled back, and none of them had ever been deliberately vicious. After that moment, however, they, too, were back to shouting at each other over the most mundane of issues (including how much Harry had to put up with from Lavender Brown) in an effort to release their anger. Luna had settled back into her chair again and was reading a magazine Fleur had abandoned with interest.

Once again, their loud yelling was interrupted by a shout, but this time the voice was a friend's.

"_Quiet_!" Lupin yelled over the noise.

Everyone ignored him and continued to scream.

"QUIET!" he repeated, this time _much _more loudly. He held his wand in the air and let off a streak of blue sparks.

They shut up.

"That's better," Tonks said unsmilingly, "Now, what the bloody hell are you lot on about?"

"_Hermione_!" Harry said furiously. "When were you two planning on telling us that her parents are going to die?"

There was a murmur of assent from the younger Weasleys.

Remus looked grim.

"Never." He said calmly.

"_What!_" This time, _all_ of the Weasleys present joined in. Even Luna glanced up from her magazine, looking mildly surprised.

"Never," Remus continued, "Because they're already dead, it seems."

Again, everyone stood stock-still, unmoving.

"I trust that we bought you enough time to send Bill to begin making arrangements before this lot showed up?" Remus asked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

They nodded, dumbfounded.

"B-But how?" Harry asked weakly. "I saw them in that bedroom, they were just Stunned."

"We thought they were, at first," Remus agreed, "But they wouldn't Enervate, and you probably worked out for yourself that we checked the Death Eaters' wands. Malfoy's and the other one's- we're still trying to identify him- showed pictures of expanding organs. At the time, we didn't think the spell had actually hit anyone. You see, the spell hadn't progressed very far, yet. However, in an hour or so, there began to be signs that it had. Like the persistent fact that neither of Hermione's parents could be woken up. So we brought them here, but the Healers couldn't figure anything out, either. Which means we have a very new, very dark spell out there that no one knows how to combat."

"But what about 'Mione?" Ron asked anxiously. "She _is_ going to be alright, isn't she?

This time, it was Tonks who answered, "'Course she is. But the Healers'll have a right time of keeping her frozen. They're probably going mad trying to keep pouring potion down her throat at exactly the right time so she doesn't overdose."

"So, are you lot going to stop this rubbish and apologize to each other?" Lupin asked.

Slowly, the tension began to evaporate, leaving Fred and George to begin apologizing with their mother and assure her that they were not going to leave the family like "that git, Percy." Once Mrs. Weasley had stopped hugging the twins, Mr. Weasley had stopped hugging Ginny, and Harry and Ron had hugged embarrassedly, Tonks turned to Remus and fell into his arms.

"Oh, Remus!" she wailed. "I'm _so so so sorry_!"

The others looked at her blankly, Remus included.

"What for?" he asked, looking at her like she'd gone mental (she quite possibly had).

Tonks straightened up and beamed at him.

"Well, everyone else got to, and it looked like fun. Make something up," she told him.

He whispered in her ear and Tonks blushed.

"That'll do," she said, though not without a smile.

And so they reprised the scene Tonks had begun to general applause from their audience. There was, needless to say, much fake-sobbing and "tearful" confessions involved. Really, Harry mused, it was more like a Muggle soap opera then anything else. Actually, it resembled one that Aunt Petunia had been particularly fond of, _Say You Love Me_.

Fred turned to his mother.

"Mum, you know how you were talking that Hermione's part of the family?" he asked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded warily, waiting for the line to fall. He didn't disappoint.

"Well, if she and Ickle Ronniekins ever get that sickening can I _please_ kill him?" Fred asked, watching Tonks and Remus act out their improvised masterpiece.

Mrs. Weasley swatted him on the head, even as she and the others chuckled.

"_No_," she said firmly, as Ron scowled, "And you can't kill Hermione, either, before you ask." She added, seeing George's mouth open.

"I wasn't going to say that!" George protested indignantly. "We like Hermione! Well, now that she's developed a proper appreciation for our products and there's no rules she can lecture us for breaking. We need her alive- got to ask her about something. I was just asking whether we could ship him off to South America, instead. They have a roaring trade in circus shows."

Ron's scowl deepened as even Remus and Tonks broke apart from their unfolding drama to laugh.

"Thanks a lot," he told the twins.

"Any time, little brother," Fred said.

"And pick those snacks up, I'm hungry," George added.

"You two pick them up yourselves," Mrs. Weasley told them.

"Fine, Mum," Fred said with a long-suffering sigh, as if he were used to years of abuse like that.

The twins pulled their wands out and summoned all the boxes and bags (respectively) to them.

"Done," they said simultaneously.

"Not quite," Ginny said, reaching up to pull a few boxes from Fred and bags from George. "Now you're done."

George glared at her as she took the last bag of Sugar Quills from him, but didn't say anything, as Mrs. Weasley was watching the proceedings with a watchful eye.

"Anything interesting in there?" Harry asked Luna as she turned another page in Fleur's magazine.

"It's amusing to see the lies printed here," Luna replied, "Did you know that this magazine says Rufus Scrimgeour is leading the Aurors on the offense against He Who Must Not Be Named? When everyone knows that the Minister is secretly helping Voldemort bring down the Ministry. Scrimgeour was Head of the Aurors, you know, when the Rotfang Conspiracy sprouted, which says quite a bit."

"Er," Harry said, "Yes. Yes it does."

"It was nice talking to you, Harry. Now, I'm going to finish reading," Luna said, turning back to the magazine.

Everyone settled down once more and began to think, eat, or, as in Mr. Weasley's case, catch up on some of the much-needed sleep his job at the Ministry had deprived him of; no one was talking, but everyone needed time to think.

Harry tried to imagine what Hermione would feel when she learned that her parents were dead. Gone. She'd never see them again. Would she cry? Probably. How must it feel to think you and your family were safe at home then have the illusion ripped to shreds? What if she couldn't stay with the Weasleys until she turned 18? Harry wondered if her memories of her parents would be painful, or if they'd be a comfort, like his were to him. He wondered if she'd even believe them when they told her.

Would he obey Moody and not tell Hermione? Would any of them? It was a tough question to answer. If he, Harry, were in Hermione's place, and his parents had been alive until just now, he would have wanted to know. But what if she really did loose her powers? Harry doubted that would happen- Hermione was too… _Hermione_ for that, but what if? Would she consider them fair trade for the truth? Harry thought she would. Should they tell her what Moody had said, or would that just stress her out even more? Should he even pay attention to what Moody had said, or should he disregard it like he had wanted to when he first heard it?

Then the door marked Number 1095 swung open and a sweaty, strained Healer stepped out and began to confer with Mrs. Weasley. Harry strained his ears to hear what was being said, as did everyone else (who was awake, as Mr. Weasley was still sleeping).

"We got it out of her heart," the Healer was saying, "And we closed the wound back up, but there's no way to tell if any splinters are still circulating in her bloodstream, which means that one might puncture another organ. These are the potions you'll need to pick up from the new Pharmacy upstairs," he handed her a piece of parchment, "Give them to her twice a day for the next two weeks. They should make sure there isn't an infection."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and clutched the piece of parchment tightly.

"Is there anything else?" she asked concernedly. "When will she be released? Do we have to keep her confined to a bed? Bring her back in later on this week?"

The Healer replied, "We won't be releasing her for at least four days, most likely more, just so we can make sure she's all right. She doesn't have to be confined to a bed, but will most likely need quite a bit of rest, as the potions we used on her to keep her body frozen will have taken almost all of her energy. There's no worry about bringing her back in unless she complains of any pain."

"What happened?" Ron asked anxiously, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping on the conversation. "Is 'Mione awake yet?"

"No," the Healer answered.

The others took this as an open invite to start voicing their own questions.

"How did you heal her?" Luna asked interestedly, looking up from her magazine once more.

"What took so long?" This question, delivered in a very accusing tone, was predictably from both Harry and Ron.

"She all right?" Fred asked.

"Er," the Healer grinned slightly, despite his frazzled appearance and Harry realized he was quite young, maybe only a year or two older then the twins. "I guess I'll answer in order. One, I think you know. Two, No, but she might be awake soon. Three, using a very complicated and puzzling combination of potions with incomprehensible names and some tricky spell work- if you want to know more, I can explain it to you in a few minutes' time. Four- do I even have to answer that? Would you rather your friend were dead because we had worked too quickly and missed something? Five, would I be standing here answering your questions if she wasn't? Somehow I think that if Number Five was a "no" I would've said that sooner. And now I have a question of my own." He said.

Everyone tensed, waiting for the blow.

"Can I have your autograph?" he asked Harry.

Everyone was so relieved it wasn't anything horrible that they all laughed. For once Harry didn't even mind being "The Chosen One".

"Er, do you have a quill? And some parchment?" he asked the Healer.

"Hold on," the Healer answered as he rummaged through his robe pockets, "I've got them somewhere. Found them!" he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a slightly bent Self-Inking quill (another invention of Fred and George's; they beamed when they saw it) and a very crumpled piece of parchment and handed them to Harry.

Harry spread the parchment out against the wall, scribbled his signature on it, and wrote, _Thanks for helping Hermione_.

He had just handed the autographed parchment and Self-Inking quill to the Healer when the numbered door burst open again and the bald Healer who had brought Harry, Tonks, and Hermione to the ward walked up to the young Healer.

"She's awake," he said.

Everyone got out of their seats and followed the younger Healer inside the doors.

"Wait!" the bald wizard shouted after them. "You lot can't go in there. There's still questions we need to ask her."

Everyone ignored him.

Once inside, they saw Hermione sitting up in the bed in her blood-stained pajamas, looking extremely flustered but otherwise perfectly healthy. The group had made their way about half way across the room before Hermione looked at them and said in a perfectly calm voice,

"They're dead, aren't they?"


	4. Chapter Three

**Title: Finis**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter, and all of the characters and places associated with it, is a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters.

**Distribution: **If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.

**Summary: **India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Harry Potter x-over.

**a/n: **This chapter is a sort of dream sequence. In other words, it's what Hermione was "thinking" while she was unconscious. I'm working off of the fact that the Slayer dreams work as a guide for Slayers and show them what they need to know (think "Restless"), so tell me what you think.

**Gaul1- **Thanx, again!

**Ringo's Wildrose-** Hermione might keep it a secret for a little while, but not forever. About Ron and Hermione, there have been slight hints as to his feelings this chapter (naturally, Hermione couldn't hint anything because she was asleep). Same thing with Harry and Ginny. However, I'm not guaranteeing that any, or all, of the pairings (or hints thereof) are going to stay the same for the whole story.

Yep, Hermione is seventeen already, so she _is_ of age in the Wizarding World. But Hermione is Muggleborn, which means there are mysterious "procedures" to go through to integrate them into the Magical Community. After all, can you imagine the government turning a blind eye to hundreds of kids disappearing from any known public schools for a year? The Muggle Liaisons Office deals with the paperwork for allowing them into Hogwarts, but to satisfy the Muggle government, Hermione would have to have an official guardian for the three months (approximately) until she turns eighteen. Well, that's what I think, anyway.

BTW, thanks!

**Allen Pitt- **Yeah, I'm pretty sure Hermione broke the record for shortest-lived Slayer. If the Council knew she existed, I would have them send her a plaque or a trophy- maybe something shiny. The theories are interesting in the extreme, but I'm not saying (or writing, as the case may be) a word on what's planned for the next few chapters.

**Bob the Almighty- **Thank you. I wouldn't have been able to stand it if I screwed up the HP characters' ages, since the Trio would be one year, half a year, and a few months (respectively) older then the Scoobies. And again, thanks. A lot. In the non-sarcastic sense.

**Moonjava- **Thank you, to the third power.

**Moony'sMate- **Thank you, too. What Hermione becomes is going to be interesting.

**ChibiChibi-** Thanks for pointing out my mistake. You might not have known, but I couldn't get into my account until last night, so I used a new one to update, then transferred the story over (in the wrong order). I figured that once anything pierces your heart, it stops beating, but the spell froze Hermione at the very tail-end of her last heartbeat, which meant that her heart was technically stopped at the time, because it was her last beat that was frozen. I hope that clears things up, but I think that I might have gotten my explanation down all wrong.

**Please REVIEW!

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**Chapter Three**

**The Labyrinth Within**

_"The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it is unfamiliar territory."_- Paul Fix.

_Hard_. That was the first thing Hermione noticed. This observation was quickly followed by another one. _Cold_. She was cold and there was something hard pressing against her face. Hermione opened her eyes slightly and saw… brown. Brown and gray. It was stone.

Groaning slightly, Hermione stood up and looked around. She was sitting on the grimy, cold floor of a dungeon. A very dark dungeon corridor, seeing as there weren't any torches or candles such as those you would find at Hogwarts. In fact, the place Hermione now found herself in made her think of what she'd imagined the dungeons of Durmstrang to be like, thanks to Viktor Krum's descriptions.

But what on Earth was she doing there?

Hermione searched her memory, but she couldn't remember anything about a dungeon. In fact, the last thing she remembered was… the Death Eaters attacking her parents. Oh no, this was not good. Not good at all. She'd obviously been captured and was now somewhere in Voldemort's stronghold. But where were her parents? They certainly weren't in the narrow passageway with her.

_I'm wandering lost with nowhere to go._

She began to walk, trying to find a room. Surely if her parents were in the dungeons, too, they would be in a holding cell of some sort. But Hermione didn't find any rooms, even after walking for twenty minutes. There didn't seem to be anything besides corridors. Lots and lots of twisting and turning stone corridors. That was when it hit her. She wasn't in a dungeon- she was in a maze.

_But why am I in a maze? And how have I gotten here? What's the point of all of this? _The witch wondered.

Her thoughts were cut off when she reached a fork in the maze and realized she was lost.

_Think, Hermione, think_, she ordered herself, _How can I get out of here?_

That was when it hit her. The Four Point Spell! She remembered teaching Harry the spell to find a way out of the maze created for the Third Task in their Fourth Year. Elated with her idea, the bushy-haired girl reached in her pocket for her wand… and found nothing. Hermione checked her other pocket, too, but it wasn't there either. She was wandless and alone in a dark, cold maze. What was she supposed to do? There was no other way for her to accurately find the direction. The only thing she could do was wander and hope for good luck.

So which way should she go? Hermione tried to think which fork would be the better option and opted for the right one- no pun intended, of course. After all, wouldn't going right be more likely to drive her towards the center of the maze? She turned right and froze mid-step. Because that was when she felt it. The cold chill that flooded her body but had nothing to do with the icy temperature of the maze and the heightened awareness that accompanied it- as if all of her senses had been being unknowingly muffled and now the gloves had been pulled off. And suddenly she knew she wasn't alone. There was something watching her.

_I feel you around me, your presence a cloak._

She could feel it presence near her. It was searing and intense, yet somehow felt familiar. And it wanted her to do something. Once again, Hermione didn't know _how _she knew what she did, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind she knew it was true. She briefly reflected that Harry had once described his connection to Voldemort the same way, but didn't think that was the key to what she was feeling.

"Hello?" she called out, stopping in the middle of the passageway.

No one answered her, but Hermione hadn't really expected anyone to. Then she heard it.

"You're going the wrong way," something breathed.

The voice was raspy, almost a hiss, but strangely enough wasn't frightening.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked out loud, "Am I supposed to go left?"

Again no one answered her, but somehow the silence seemed to be an answer. _Yes_.

Hermione turned around and walked down the left fork, wrestling with herself as she did. Why was she following directions from an invisible, probably evil, presence that might or might not exist? What if she just managed to get herself even more lost, although it was doubtful that that could be possible.

_Why I still follow, I don't really know. _

Without a watch or a wand, Hermione had no idea how much time had passed, but if she went by her internal clock, it had been roughly half an hour. She had been walking along the left fork without pause, even though her feet were beginning to hurt. There was a sense of urgency around her that the girl that Hermione knew wasn't from her own feelings. It was as if her "ghost", as she'd mentally labeled it, wanted her to find something, and quickly.

Frankly, Hermione was beginning to wonder if the thing her "ghost" was waiting for was for her to drop dead of exhaustion and boredom. There hadn't been much change of scenery for the past thirty minutes. Just more dirty, grimy walls, filthy floors, and the infernal unending corridor that her invisible, possibly imaginary, friend had led her into. Indeed, Hermione was doubting her own existence at this point, not to mention the "ghost's". It was hard to remember that there was anything in the world besides ugly mazes and darkness.

Then she felt it again. The same instinct that had caused her to choose the left fork was no screaming at her, but Hermione couldn't figure out why. After all, there was nothing there but the rest of the long corridor. And then Hermione saw the small passageway branching out to the right. So that was why that annoying ghost was screaming in her head again.

Hermione followed the new, much narrower hall along, not noticing the slight film of mist beginning to curl up around her.

_Someone please guide me through this hazy smoke._

The presence had disappeared again, and the corridor had ended in a wide open area that had a number of different passages branching off of it. Hermione couldn't see how many branches she had to choose from because she couldn't see more then three feet ahead of her thanks to all of the fog that was obscuring her vision. She decided to just keep going straight, but the fog was getting thicker.

Soon, Hermione couldn't see her hand in front of her face. However, she hadn't collided with a wall like she should have, and she didn't think the fog would have made it all the way down the corridors. She felt like she was suspended in limbo, and the fog was getting impossibly thick- it felt like she was trying to walk through gray pudding.

Maybe she had been stuck like that for years; maybe it had only been a minute. Hermione never did know how long it took for the vapor to clear. But after a while (to her, at least) the smog began to clear and she could see dark shapes looming out at her.

Slowly, the shapes came into focus and the fog dissipated. Hermione realized that she wasn't in Dartmouth and she wasn't in 1997 anymore. She had no idea _where_ she was, but hazarded a guess as to the _when _of her location. She was probably in the eighteenth century, possibly early nineteenth, if the style of the buildings was anything to go by, even if architecture had never been one of her strong points.

Hermione also noticed something much more important. This wasn't her body. This she became aware of as she could hear other thoughts in… well, maybe not _her _head, but the other girl's.

_This can't be happening_, the girl was thinking, and Hermione could hear her heart racing, _He- He was obviously quite mad. I should tell someone so they can take him away to the asylum. But what if they believe him?_

Now Hermione could hear the thud of her feet match her rapid heartbeats as the girl sped up. But what was the girl thinking about? And why was Hermione sharing her body? It was as if the whole- was it a day? After all, the moon was out, even if it was covered by clouds, and it was currently night- day/night had been nothing but a long, boring stream of unanswerable questions.

No one was out on the streets, which meant it was obviously late. The only thing either girl heard was the sound of rats scurrying in the alleys, and the occasional beggar trying to catch and cook one. She…The other girl…They were still running, and showed no sign of stopping. There was something about the other girl's fear that seemed to reach Hermione. It felt like she, too, should be afraid, and it made her want to run even faster, even though nothing Hermione did or did not want to do could affect her host body's actions.

Something lunged from the shadowy alley they were currently running past. The girl let out a shriek and instinctively flipped him over her head. Both Hermione and the girl scarcely had time to marvel at her strength when their attacker rose up and rushed at them again. Once again the girl reacted on instinct and pulled a skirt-covered knee up and caught the man underneath his chin, sending him flying backwards before he landed on the cobbled road ten feet away.

Feeling the adrenaline pumping in her, the girl reached in the pocket of her large dress and pulled something out as she ran over to the fallen man. Only, he wasn't a man. He couldn't be. Both girls shuddered in revulsion as they looked at his feral, ridged face. He looked evil, and the girl plunged her stake into his- _it's_- heart just to get rid of that horrible face, with its yellow eyes staring up at them, gleaming with hatred.

As soon as the thing had exploded into dust, the girl stood there, white-faced and shaking, her knuckles white as she clutched the stake so hard it, too, exploded into dust. The girl didn't even wince as long, thin splinters forced their way through her palms. She simply stood there, terrified, as the feelings surged over her.

_No, no,_ Hermione heard her thinking, _That did _not _happen. Whatever that thing was wasn't real. It- It was simply the shock of facing that madman. Obviously, it destroyed my nerves. _

But Hermione could tell that the girl didn't really believe that. She didn't seem to want to admit- even to herself- whatever it was that had frightened her so badly. And that was compounding her own fear.

There was the tap of a booted foot stepping along the road from behind them and the girl spun around.

A well-dressed, middle-aged man wearing a small, powdered wig was standing behind her, looking cautious.

"Ah, Helena," he said, "I'm pleased to see you are embracing your sacred duty."

"I do not have a sacred duty!" Helena exclaimed. "Sir, I think you are quite mad!"

The man chuckled slightly.

"Helena, you do not truly believe that," the man said.

Helena winced, and Hermione knew that was because the strange man was right. Neither Helena or Hermione believed that the man was mad. However, Hermione, unlike Helena, felt a prickle of curiosity at the sound of the words "sacred duty".

"You are the Slayer," the man continued, "The one girl in all the world who can stand against the forces of darkness."

"I'm not a Slayer!" Helena insisted.

Now that prickle of curiosity had turned into something else. Something… different. It was as if Hermione had heard the man's words before, but she couldn't remember where.

"Then how do you explain the way you destroyed that vampire?" the man challenged. "Skill like that would take years to develop in anyone else, and no other females would have it. And why else would you have kept that stake I gave you? Instincts and abilities like yours belong only to the Slayer."

Helena shivered and Hermione began to put two and two together.

"How do you explain how quickly you were able to spin around when you heard me? For that matter, how do you explain the way you heard me coming when I was over six yards away? And the dreams, how can you explain the dreams of those from before you?" the man went on.

This last bit especially, struck a chord within both Hermione and Helena.

_The Death Eaters had all seemed so slow to react when they attacked the house_, Hermione was thinking. _I was able to Stun three of them before the others had gotten their wands out. Even after Malfoy had jinxed me I had enough time to Stun him and that skinny little man. I've been dreaming of girls fighting creatures like that vampire… that's where I heard the word Slayer! And… I dreamed about this girl too. I dreamed of her death the night before Dumbledore's funeral. Oh my god, I'm a Slayer. Ohgodohgodohgod. _

Helena's hands were shaking, and so was her voice, as she asked, "W- What must I do?"

The man moved closer to her and extended his arm.

"Let me train you," he said as she put her hand into the crook of his elbow, "Let me be your Watcher; your guide. I can teach you what you need to know."

Helena nodded slightly as they walked down the street through the fog. Hermione, however, seemed to walk right out of Helena's body, invisible to all, as the mist coalesced around her, growing thick and oppressive. She was wandering blind, now.

_I'm trapped inside with no place to hide._

Once more the fog finally began to clear, after what felt like an eternity, and shapes were made visible. Again, Hermione knew she wasn't in her body, but this wasn't Helena's body, either, as was immediately proven.

She- and her unknown host- were standing in the doorway of a large, slightly aged, Victorian house. This body felt different, the thoughts had a different… _signature_ to them; a different sound; taste; _feel_ to them.

And then there was the sight inside the house that so scared both girls. Two adults were lying in a pool of blood on the previously shiny hardwood floor. But, where the Host girl saw one set of parents staring up at them, Hermione saw another- her own.

_There's no one to hear me scream._

The Host girl (this one's new nickname) began to scream and cry, and Hermione joined in, although no one could see or hear her, as her presence had no effect on the Host girl. Because somehow, once again, Hermione knew that what she was seeing was real. Just like she instinctively knew to listen to her ghost, just like she knew that the man had been talking to her as well as Helena. What she was seeing was real, and her parents were dead.

The two of them had been sitting on their knees, rocking back and forth, and sobbing brokenly for at least an hour, and probably more, even though neither one of them was thinking of the time, when there was a tap on the girl's shoulder. Without a word, a brown-haired woman with a slightly rumpled suit and sympathetic eyes enveloped the girl in a hug.

The gesture was wasted, though, because both the Host girl and Hermione heard the voice in their heads.

"_The Slayer stands alone,_" it hissed.

_No!_ Hermione screamed in her head, knowing the "ghost" would hear. _I don't want to be alone. _

"_You are the Chosen One, you stand alone against the forces of darkness_." Was the raspy reply. "_We are alone. The Chosen know only each other. The Shadow Men are our guides._"

_Then I don't want to be the Slayer!_ Both Hermione and the girl screamed, and Hermione didn't even notice that the Host girl could hear her.

"_You have no choice_," the voice of the "ghost" croaked, "_You are needed. You have been Chosen. You are the guardians of our world. You cannot live within it. The Slayer has a duty._"

_Bollocks, _Hermione thought in response, too angry to care about her language. _I don't have to be the Slayer if I don't want to._

"_You cannot be forced to accept your duty, but to refuse would be to be put the world in danger. You have no choice._" It said hoarsely.

_Why me? _Hermione thought. _Why do I have to be the Slayer? Don't I have enough to handle?_

"_It is not for you to decide. You have been Chosen._" The Thing (Hermione had given up "ghost" as too affectionate a nickname) said.

_Who are you?_ Hermione asked, giving up any attempt to reason with the Thing and resolving to ignore the load of rubbish she was being told as soon as she got back home. _Why should I believe you?_

"_I am the Primal_," the Thing answered in a croak, "_I was the first of us all. The one the Shadow Men created to save them._"

_Why are you doing this? Why am I here?_ Hermione asked the Primal.

The Host girl had gone back to her loud grieving, trying and failing to find comfort in the woman who was still holding her. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking at the fog beginning to condense around her.

_I follow you, my invisible guide_

"_Walk with me,_" the Primal ordered.

Hermione complied, feeling like she couldn't say no. She was still crying inside, and it felt like she'd never stop, but she didn't want to.

She walked through the fog, seemingly alone, except for the strange gleam of yellow eyes every now and then.

"_The Slayer is alone,_" the Primal said, "_The Slayer is eternal. The roots of our power are in all of the Chosen line. We need no one else._"

_No, that's not true,_ Hermione choked out in her mind. I _need people. I need my parents. _

"_No_," the Primal croaked, "_We are alone_."

_I won't be alone, _Hermione reiterated, _I can't survive like that._

"_Embrace your destiny or you will die_," the Primal warned hoarsely.

_Through this, my perpetual dream_

Hermione spent the next few hours, or days, or months, or years like that- walking through the fog of time and space to live in the bodies of other Slayers. Time seemed to have no real meaning in the dream world she was in. Every moment made her feel like she was in hell, as she screamed unheard in the bodies of other girls who tried to refuse the Calling.

Sometimes the fog would lead back to the labyrinth, and she would see that it had become slightly less complicated, but still impossible to navigate. It was the first time this happened that the possibility of this being some bizarre fantasy first entered the so-called Slayer's head. She had wracked her memory, trying to figure out the last thing she remembered. It was of a sharp piercing pain and everything turning black.

Was she dead? Was she unconscious? Was this real or make believe? Would she ever find her way out of this web of thoughts that had been woven around her, or would she stay trapped?

The only thing Hermione now knew for sure was that her parents were really dead, and there was something _familiar _about every girl she'd "been", even the Primal. But Hermione couldn't- no, _wouldn't _believe that every Slayer had had a horrible life. Surely someone, somewhere, had been happy?

_I walk through my mind, searching to find tales of those from before me_

And so Hermione began to pay special attention to every person- Slayer- she shared a body and memories with. She noted every detail of both them and their lives with strict precision, and found that it made her feel better to focus on the small things. Not having to think made It easier; It being her parents' death.

And so she searched compulsively, determined to find a way to prove the Primal wrong. The spirit had left long ago, and Hermione was thankful for that- it's grim assurance that she had to be alone was unsettling, to say the least. But all Hermione had found was proof that the Primal's words were right. That she would die alone.

But Hermione Granger was nothing if not stubborn. If she wanted to prove the Primal wrong, she would prove the Primal wrong, it was just a matter of figuring out how.

_Of them I was blind, but we're intertwined. At last I begin to see_

And slowly she began to see the girls behind the Slayer. She knew what they were giving up every time they went to patrol, and she could feel the rush every time they staked a vampire or killed a demon. Hermione was inside the Slayers, but she could finally understand a little bit of what being the Slayer meant.

Somehow, in some strange way, she felt connected to the other Slayers. She could hear their thoughts and feel their feelings, and found that they mirrored her own at times. It was as if they were all caught in the same web, as the Spider that was Destiny wove her trap unaffected.

But even as Hermione discovered her part in a very odd sisterhood, she saw what really lurked in the world at night, and that scared her. The demons, vampires, sorcerers, and general icky things seemed to have walked out of some mad storybook, ready to kill and maim. Even after reading her way through parts of the Restricted Section in the library at Hogwarts last year, she had never imagined some of the grotesque monsters the other Slayers faced, and wondered if she would have to fight them herself.

But that thought didn't really scare her. If anything, she felt the most bizarre mixture of anger, fear, and a desire to fight whenever she saw any of the other Slayers locked in combat. There was an almost inhuman craving woken up in her, and she couldn't stop it. On one hand, the hunger inside her defied everything Hermione Granger stood for, worked for, and wanted- order. Clean, tidy, order and peace, with nothing too horrible or startling happening. At the same time, Hermione realized that that same hunger had always been inside of her, deeply buried, but leaking out at the most unexpected moments.

As she thought about things now, Hermione remembered the words of the Sorting Hat, six, almost seven, years ago.

_"Not everything is as straightforward as a book, you know. Sometimes people have hidden depths. There's definitely a sharp mind to be had with you. But also plenty of hidden courage and strength. You'd do well in any of the houses, although I suppose Slytherin wouldn't be the happiest place. Really, it comes down to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."_

_"I wouldn't mind Ravenclaw," Hermione had answered. "Almost everyone on the train said I'd do well there, being such a…"_

_"Know It All?" the Sorting Hat had finished when she trailed off, and Hermione had the uncanny feeling that if she could see the outside of the hat, the rip in the brim would be grinning. _

_"Well, yes," she admitted. _

_"Hmmm," the Sorting Hat had muttered, "There's quite a bit in this head of yours, but not in all the right places. Yes, I think you'd be a much better _Gryffindor!_" _

_This last bit was yelled out loud, and Hermione took the hat off to applause from the table farthest to the left, and so, never had the time to ask what the hat had meant._

Two moths after this incident, there was another one involving a troll, two boys and a locked girl's bathroom that began to give Hermione memories of another kind. Maybe, just maybe, the Sorting Hat had seen a glimpse of what she could become. And maybe that glimpse had involved becoming the Slayer, and maybe it had involved becoming a best friend.

_From the cold I see the fire. In the weak I see hidden might. _

For just a moment, things were extraordinarily clear, in a way which most of us can only dream about. Things seemed so simple, and Hermione knew what she was going to do. There might not have been a Slayer before her who wasn't alone, and there might not be one after her who managed to stay connected to both webs- the normal world and the Slayer's world- but Hermione was going to be one Slayer who did stay connected. She _could_ still be Hermione, just like she would become the next Slayer.

And if there was ever another Slayer who found herself to be alone in a labyrinth of her own making, she hoped they would be able to "melt" into her and feel a little better. But Hermione had a job to do, and she had a friend to help. It wouldn't be easy. After all, how could it be? Voldemort had destroyed the natural order of things to fragment his very soul- an enemy like that was obviously not an enemy to underestimate. But maybe, one day, she would be able to look back on this time when even her mind had been dark, and she'd thank Merlin for faith.

For the smallest fraction of a second, Hermione could see the way things could be, and it made her feel good. There was still a chance to make things right, they just had to focus long enough to fix things. There was a long way to go. In fact, Hermione might never get to know herself well enough to be able to focus like that. But there was the slimmest chance that all of the confusion that had erupted inside her overnight might one day go away.

Because when Hermione stepped out of the fog for the last time, she saw that she was right where she had started, in the labyrinth. But now there was a clear path to the other side. She couldn't see all of it, and there were still twists and turns to find her way through, but now it would be possible to make it through to the other side.

_In these dark times most dire, the flame begins to ignite_

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, causing intensely bright light to slice through the shadows. Things felt different now, and the witch realized that the dream world was gone. She sat up slightly and looked around at the vivid white room as her eyes readjusted to the new light. It really was a "whole new world" wasn't it?

There were about four or five people wearing the St. Mungo's uniform bustling around the room. One of them was using their wand to bottle up some type of icy, blue-white potion, and then floating it over to another Healer, who had a half-filled open box with the words "To Pharmacy," written on the side floating in front of him.

Another Healer was scribbling hurriedly on a piece of parchment stuck to a Muggle-style clipboard. The fourth one was performing all sorts of curious maneuvers with his wand and scribbling the results on a clipboard of his own. The last Healer, a bald chap, was walking out of the room.

How much time had passed? Hermione wondered. Had it really been the months and years it had sometimes felt like, or had it only been a few hours? Would anyone think it was strange, the way she felt?

The feeling of purpose was quickly fading from the front of her mind, and Hermione knew that soon other things would intrude into her consciousness and demand her attention. But that was as it should be. She didn't want to be detached, as even Dumbledore had been. And she also knew that even when there were other things to think about, more reminders of her parents to deal with, that sense of purpose would still be there in the back of her mind.

Suddenly the door burst open and a very large group of familiar people flooded in, causing the startled Healers to look up. Hermione dimly registered another new Healer; the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Moody, who was as gnarled and scarred as ever; the twins and Ginny, who all looked slightly queasy, and very angry. The second she saw the two people who probably knew her better then anyone looking at her with forced smiles on their faces and anxious eyes, she knew she had made the right decision.

She had had such a hard time with her parents' death that she had doubted that she had dealt with it even a little bit. It was looking at Harry and Ron that made her figure out that she had learned to accept it, and had even planned what she was going to do about it, all in her own head. It still hurt like hell, but then, it would always hurt, wouldn't it? There was just nothing to be done but go on with her life the way they had taught her to.

Hermione also knew that she wouldn't be able to think about it this way if it hadn't been for her little "dream walk". She had killed and fought her way through just about everything in someone else's body, and with every punch and tear had imagined a Death Eater's face in place of the demon's. She had cried and screamed for days inside while trapped inside her own mind.

In one night her world had ended and crashed down in flames around her. In the fog of lost time she had begun to pick up the pieces, and maybe had come away with a new understanding of her life. For once she was part of something bigger, and there was a part of that inside of her. Right now, there was nothing to do but help as much as she could.

But that didn't mean she couldn't toy with Harry and Ron just a little bit. After all, maybe she was just "psychic".

And so the corners of her mouth twitched up into the smallest of smirks as she asked, "They're dead, aren't they?" and watched everyone's jaws drop.

* * *

Eek. I was soo set on separating the parts of this chapter with poetry, but I couldn't find anything on the internet or from my own store of quotes that would fit. However, I'm stubborn, so I had to make up some very very bad poetry and pop it in. At least I remembered something one of my uncles quoted to me, so that's how the quote at the top came up. Please Review, and try not to make fun of my nonexistent poetry skills. 


	5. Chapter Four

**Title: Finis**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter, and all of the characters and places associated with it, is a product of the creative genius that is J. K. Rowling. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the mythos that I'm borrowing belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing I own is the plot and any original characters.

**Distribution: **If you want to post this anywhere else, ask first. I'll say yes, but I want to know. Also, give me credit for it.

**Summary: **India Cohen is dead, and a new Slayer has been called. Harry Potter x-over.

**a/n: **After a long hiatus where I dealt with real life (such a pesky thing) I'm back. insert cheers or groaning I would've been back earlier, but I decided to stay away after instituted the no-review-reply rule. What can I say, there was just something more fun and...I don't know, more traditional in replying directly in the chapter.

I finally got a livejournal. It's lala-lady-r. I'm going to be putting updates there first. I think most of my review replies, or at least more detailed replies, will be there, too. Feel free to drop by and give me advice on how to work the stupid thing. I still can't believe that I was one of the first people to come up with a cool myspace, but I can't figure out a livejournal. It's hard. Oh yeah, if you've got any pairing suggestions or things that you want to see happen, just pop it in a review or a comment. I've lost the original version of this chapter, and all of my outlines, so suggestions... Much appreciated.

Still, here's the new chapter, I hope you like it, and don't forget...**Please Review!

* * *

**

**Chapter Four**

**A Very Strange Hospital Patient**

"Do you think she's alright?" Ginny whispered in an undertone.

"Dunno, she's bound to be feeling right pleased after her parents _died_."

"Don't take that tone with me, Ron. There's no need to be sarcastic."

"Children, children, do act civilized," Fred said, adopting a pompous tone strangely reminiscent of Percy.

"_You're_ telling _us _to act civilized?" Ginny could be quite eloquent in her use of italics.

"Try not to sound so shocked."

"I can sound how-,"

"Oh, my ears," Harry muttered, unheard.

"Why don't you all shut up?" George suggested.

This started another minor storm of bickering until Harry finally added his input to the conversation.

"Do any of you even remember what you were talking about in the first place?" he asked.

This actually quieted the Weasleys. For a few moments, Ron and Ginny had the decency to look rather ashamed, but the twins were, predictably, irrepressible.

"Sure we do," Fred said.

"We were discussing the lovely Madam Hermione, psychic extraordinaire," George chimed in.

The other three scowled upon hearing that. Three days had passed and Hermione still hadn't explained how she'd known her parents were dead. She'd whispered to Harry that she would tell him and Ron later, but they hadn't been able to be alone with her. There was always a Healer, or an Order member, or another Weasley with them. Security had been heightened on all of them, and Hermione had even been placed in a private room instead of in a ward, a privilege usually reserved to witches and wizards who'd donated sizable sums of money to St. Mungo's. So Harry and Ron had been forced to listen to the twins' far-fetched theories about Hermione's supposedly otherworldly knowledge, something that angered them as much as it did Ginny.

"Would you two stop going on about that?" she asked now. "It's not funny. She's sitting in there, feeling Merlin only knows what, while you harp on about her _psychic abilities_. You should be ashamed of yourselves. For Merlin's sake, _her parents are dead_." This last was added in a furious hiss, with Ginny casting an anxious look over her shoulder as if it could magically tell her whether or not Hermione had heard them talking.

Now Fred and George really did look abashed. An awkward silence fell, and Ron broke it with a hesitant,

"D'you think we should go in, then?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said.

Ginny, who was closest to the door, knocked. A faint "Come in," was heard, and she pushed her way inside. The others followed close behind.

"Hey, Hermione," they said uncomfortably, almost simultaneously.

It really was odd. She was looking at them with that familiar glint in her eye, the one that said "I know something." Harry had a feeling she'd heard everything they'd said, but immediately dismissed the thought. It was impossible. They'd all been standing at least a foot away from the door, and talking in whispers, too. There was no way she could've heard. Extendable Ears and spells were out of the question, as well, since the Healers were forbidding her from using magic as long as she was under the influence of the potions; to that end, she wasn't supposed to use anything with enchantments or charms on it, like Extendable Ears. Harry grinned as he remembered her reaction to that particular rule. He couldn't remember Hermione ever swearing, but she'd certainly come up with more than a few _colorful_ words to scream at the Healer.

He was still grinning when he turned back to the conversation that had started without him. The others had perched on the end of Hermione's bed, and he quickly moved over to join them. Ron was sneaking food from the basket Mrs. Weasley had sent with them while Hermione pretended not to notice. Ginny was telling her about Bill and Fleur's wedding preparations. Complaining, would be a better word for it. Yes, Ginny was _very_ good with italics. Then Hermione looked at him.

"How are your ears, Harry?" she asked innocently.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, looking from Hermione to Harry.

Harry, for his part, paled immediately. There was no way she should have heard him. Even Ginny, Ron, and the twins hadn't heard him. She gave him a small half-smile and he saw a piece of paper whisk out of sight beneath the blankets. He blinked, but when he opened his eyes, Hermione was saying,

"Oh, nothing really. Just something Harry mentioned earlier."

"Oh, alright then."

Harry tried to catch her eye as the conversation resumed. Eventually, she winked at him, a distinctly un-Hermione-ish move. _I'll tell you later_, she mouthed. Harry spent the rest of the visit in silence. He was busy trying to figure out what was happening with Hermione and whether or not it had anything to do with the Horcruxes.

After half an hour or so, they left, with Harry being too preoccupied to invent a reason to stay behind and talk with Hermione. The twins escorted Harry, Ron, and Ginny to the Burrow, with Harry under cover of his Invisibility Cloak, then departed for their store. Mrs. Weasley was busy cleaning the Burrow for the wedding (she was determined to make "dear Bill's" wedding nothing less than absolutely perfect; whether part of this decision was influenced by a need to impress her soon-to-be in-laws, one can only guess) and the other Weasleys had left for work. Harry quickly suggested a "game of chess" in the attic with Ron, their new code for "we need to talk", effectively excluding Ginny. He didn't like seeing the hurt look on her face as they walked off, but there was nothing else for him to do. He'd already made his decision. Being with Ginny was dangerous. Now he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

"So what'd you want to talk about?" Ron asked once they reached the attic.

He flopped onto his bed and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry sat down next to him and explained what he'd said in the hall while Ron and his siblings had been...having a disagreement. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could see comprehension dawn in his friend's eyes.

"You mean when she was asking about your ear, she..." At Harry's nod, he breathed, "Blimey."

"I know," Harry nodded. He looked around the room and pointed his wand at the door, nonverbally Imperturbing it so no one could hear what was happening inside. "You don't think it has anything to do with Voldemort, do you?"

Ron looked startled. "What, you mean with the," his voice lowered – "Horcruxes?"

"Yeah. You don't think she found something, do you? She said she'd be researching. It explains why he sent Snape and Lestrange after her."

Ron seemed uncertain.

"I don't know. If you're right, I get the first two gits," Harry took this to mean Snape and Lestrange – "being there, but what about Malfoy? I thought You-Know-Who wasn't all that pleased with him. Why would he have sent Malfoy along?"

Harry thought about this for a moment.

"Well, I s'pose he could be okay with Malfoy now. After all, he did get the Death Eaters into the school, and Snape did kill Dumb- kill Dumbledore."

Even as he said it, Harry knew that wasn't the case. Voldemort was hardly forgiving, and he wasn't likely to send Malfoy along on a mission that involved his precious Horcruxes, or anyone who had information regarding one. Come to think of it, he was sure that Voldemort wouldn't want to risk anyone besides himself learning about his Horcruxes, especially not Death Eaters like Snape and Lestrange, who were fiercely ambitious, or Malfoy, who was likely to report to his equally ambitious father. No, if Voldemort had suspected Hermione knew anything about his Horcruxes, he probably would have gone to find out what she knew himself.

He repeated this theory to Ron, who seemed to find it much more convincing.

"But that still leaves us with no idea of they were doing there." he finished.

Ron took his time in answering.

"Well, maybe," he began slowly. "They were just there to try and do her in for, well, for being your friend." He sent Harry an apologetic look as he said this. They both knew what issues Harry had with being the "Chosen One". One of those issues was sulking in a bedroom downstairs. "And she's Muggle-born, too. Bet he figured that would make a nice little article on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. What if the attack had nothing to do with how she knew about her parents? Hell, maybe she's not "psychic", or whatever, at all. She could've overheard us yelling about it in the hall. The Healers probably took their time in telling us she was awake while they did tests, or something."

Harry was feeling rather dumbfounded by the time Ron stopped speaking. At last he recovered his voice enough to say, "When did you get so logical? You're usually coming up with as many mad theories as I am."

Ron grinned.

"What can I say? Someone has to channel Hermione while she's in the logic, and if I don't, you'll just "run off and do something stupid."" He did a scarily good impression of Hermione.

Harry laughed.

"I can see you have the utmost faith in my abilities," he said.

Ron shrugged.

"Of course I do, but someone has to keep your ego in check. Can't have the "Chosen One" running around with a head fatter than Percy's. He'd be outraged. On second thought, you're the most fantastically wonderful wizard ever."

Harry swatted at him, but Ron ducked out of the way.

"The second Hermione says that to me, I'll believe it," he responded, laughing.

"She's more likely to tell Kreecher that, instead," was Ron's reply. "Or possibly McGonagall."

"Then it'd be "most wonderful house-elf" or "most wonderful witch"."

"I'm not so sure about McGonagall," Ron said dourly. At Harry's raised eyebrow, he added. "Well, she hits _hard_."

Harry snorted and shook his head.

The two of them spent the remaining hour until Mrs. Weasley called them to dinner exchanging theories about Hermione, the Horcruxes, and Voldemort. As the theories steadily grew more far-fetched, Harry reflected that he and Ron should really talk to the Weasleys about their plans for next year instead of making jokes. They'd agreed something had to be done after getting back from St. Mungo's after overhearing the adults talking about the Grangers' death. Someone would have to tell them that there'd be no need to file papers of any sort, and no need to enroll them in Beauxbatons, when they wouldn't be going back next year. Neither one of them wanted to do it, and they'd come to an unspoken agreement to wait until after the wedding. He knew neither one of them wanted to spoil it for anyone, which the news undoubtedly would.

It was so easy to almost forget about Voldemort and the Horcruxes altogether, but the reminders were all around him. The obituary notices in the _Daily Prophet_ were growing longer and most of the Weasleys were too busy to make it home for dinner. Mrs. Weasley still carried the clock around with her, and no one had mentioned anything when new hands marked "Harry" and "Hermione" had appeared on it the day after Hermione was attacked, Most of all, though no one mentioned it, Dumbledore lingered in their thoughts. Sometimes Harry wondered if his decision not to go back to Hogwarts hadn't been made just so he could avoid being in a Hogwarts without Dumbledore. Then he thought of the broken body lying on the ground, and he knew it was more than that.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Pigwidgeon was at the window. He had something attached to his leg, and Ron hastily opened the window.

"That's odd," he said. "I didn't write to anyone."

"Ron, er, I think we should leave now," Harry told him, eyeing the smoking red envelope Pigwidgeon was carrying.

The redhead spotted it, too. He immediately turned so pale that his freckles looked like chicken pox. With shaking hands, he reached for the Howler and opened it. The two teenagers barely had time to clap their hands over their ears before an explosion of noise washed over the room.

"WOULD YOU TWO GET DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW?" Mrs. Weasley's voice screeched. "WE'VE BEEN WORRIED SICK! HALF THE ORDER'S BEEN OUT SEARCHING FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU HAD THE NERVE TO CHARM YOUR DOOR! DINNER'S BEEN READY FOR HALF AN HOUR! HURRY UP!"

Exchanging startled glances, they hastily ran out of the room and shut the door behind them, sighing in relief as the Imperturbing charm silenced the noise.

"Think she's mad, then?" Ron asked, grinning weakly.

Feeling distinctly worried, they walked downstairs to face Mrs. Weasley.

To their surprise, the Weasleys, along with Remus, Moody, Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones, were calmly eating dinner. Mr. Weasley was there, too, which was something of a surprise, as he was usually to busy at the Ministry to come home and eat.

"Hello, boys," he said pleasantly as they entered. "We've just started. Have a seat."

Mrs. Weasley gave them a grin, and Ron elbowed Harry under the table. Harry felt nervous. Surely Mrs. Weasley wasn't just going to forgive them, not after that Howler she'd sent. However, the meal progressed happily enough. After a while, Harry began to observe something nervous in everyone else's expressions. Had it only been one or two people acting strangely, he would have dismissed it as his imagination, but he caught almost everyone at the table sending them anxious glances at one point or the other. He even tried to catch Ginny's eye and ask her to explain what was going on, but she ignored him for the rest of the meal.

Ron was equally mystified, and both of them had the feeling that this sudden tension in the room could be nothing good. Halfway through dessert (lemon pie and a generous bowl of homemade vanilla ice cream), Ron's nerves got the best of him.

"Would you lot just tell us what's going on, already?" he burst out.

"Sit down and finish your dessert, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley said.

"No," Ron said. "You've been giving Harry and me these looks all dinner long. If you want to yell at us, just get it over with. This whole silent-treatment thing is bloody disturbing."

"Listen to your mother," was all Mr. Weasley would say, while everyone else suddenly became very interested in their pie.

"I'm with Ron," Harry said. "I want to know what's going on."

No one said anything, but he didn't miss the looks exchanged between...well, between everyone that wasn't Harry or Ron.

"You know, if Dumbledore trusted me enough to tell me what he was doing, I think you could do the same," he began heatedly.

Mrs. Weasley let out a sigh.

"We wanted to wait until after dinner," she said tiredly. "Remus, I don't suppose you could -"

"Of course, Molly," he said, then turned towards Ron and Harry, who were seated a few seats down from him. "We thought you should at least eat something before you found out." At the teenagers' impatient looks, he rolled his eyes and said, "Hermione's missing."

Ron immediately started yelling at everyone within hearing distance for not telling them earlier, then started worrying about Hermione.

"What? Where is she? How could Death Eaters get into St. Mungo's? I thought she was supposed to have security! What the bloody hell made you wait so long to tell us?" he shouted, barely pausing for breath.

Normally, Harry would have been shouting right along with him, but he'd caught something strange in Lupin's voice, something that caused his mind to flashback to the piece of paper he'd seen Hermione hide under her blanket.

"What else do you want to tell us?" he asked, interrupting Ron.

Remus looked faintly amused.

"She wasn't kidnapped. It seems she left on her own. We think she escaped into Muggle London, but we can't be sure until you read this."

He withdrew a small parchment envelope from a pocket inside his robes and handed it to Harry. On the front of it, in Hermione's neat handwriting were the words _Harry and Ron_.

Harry wasn't sure whether he opened it, or if Ron had. The next thing he knew, the two of them were bent over the letter, heads nearly bumping, as they quickly began to read.

_Dear Harry and Ron, _she wrote.

_I know you two are probably wondering what I was thinking. Well, I want you to stop. I am more than capable of taking care of myself, and if either one of you so much as thinks of lecturing me about this when I see you again, I will bring up every single rule you have ever broken in front of Mrs. Weasley. Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I can get to the real reason I'm writing this. I can't tell you exactly why I left yet, but I will. I want you to meet me on Saturday afternoon at 1 o' clock at Number 7 Ashford Lane. It's in London, so you'll have to Apparate. You can't risk being followed. And yes, I remember that neither one of you has a license yet. Trust me, the Ministry is far too busy to monitor underage magic, and they have no way to tell if an unlicensed wizard has an Apparition license. Unless you splinch yourselves, of course, but you'll try not to do that, won't you? I have something important to tell you both, but do not tell anyone else what I've written. I've Jinxed the envelope and this letter so that something highly unpleasant will happen to anyone who tries to read it (besides you two, of course). Trust me, alright?_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Knock on the Coffin._

Harry and Ron looked at each other as they finished reading.

"She didn't say much," Harry lied, trying to look suitably disappointed.

"Yeah," Ron added, "She just told us not to get into trouble and to not try and Apparate before we get our licenses or we'll end up splinching ourselves."

"Oh well," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "We'd been hoping she'd tell you where she was."

Moody didn't look convinced, but at a sharp look from Remus, he refrained from saying anything.

"You know, I think I feel up to a game of chess," Ron said. "How about it, Harry?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry agreed.

The two of them left the room, trying not to look particularly hurried. Harry could feel the letter burning a hole in his pocket. As soon as they reached the attic, Ron locked the door and Imperturbed it again. Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley's Howler was now finished. That was one mystery solved, at least. She'd probably thought the two of them had run off with Hermione, or something of the sort.

"So," Ron said, sitting on the bed. "What d'you reckon?"

"I think we should go. It doesn't look like a forgery, and Jinxing the parchment is exactly the sort of thing she would do. But what is she up to?" Harry wondered out loud.

"This sort of makes your You-Know-Who theory sound a lot more reasonable. Maybe she did find something. I can't figure out what she was getting at with that postscript. _Knock on the Coffin_. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Dunno. You think we should go, then?"

"To London? Yeah. At least she's having us meet her after lunch. Mum'll be busy with cleaning up, and Ginny will probably be over Luna Lovegood's or hiding from you, Harry."

Harry grimaced in response. It hadn't escaped his notice that the youngest Weasley was avoiding him, but what could he do? It was what he wanted, wasn't it?

"Guess we'll just have to sneak away, then. At least you've got the cloak," Ron finished.

Harry nodded absently. The four days until Saturday seemed impossibly long.


End file.
